


Put the Pieces Together

by serendipitousDescent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Season/Series 05, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitousDescent/pseuds/serendipitousDescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re mine,” Gabriel forced out. “They’re my wings.”</p>
<p>“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Sam muttered.</p>
<p>“That was before, Sasquatch.”</p>
<p>"It's been years since we found out. You disappeared for a month, Cas is dead, the world is ending. What makes this a good time?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Like You

“Dean?”

His brother looked up from the thick paperback he was reading, resigned. Maybe he was expecting Sam to ask about why Dad wasn’t back yet but that wasn’t what was bugging him. At least, not at the moment.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean responded almost as softly as Sam had.

Sam hesitated for a few moments and then thrust out his wrist. There was the image of a flame etched onto it, more detailed than the pictures of fire he’d seen in picture books but just as red and angry-looking. “What is this?”

The book was quickly abandoned, bookmark haphazardly shoved inside as Dean scrambled closer. Instead of explaining though, Dean revealed the matching image on the inside of his own wrist with colours just as bright as its partner. Sam’s face scrunched up in obvious displeasure. Dean knew absolutely _everything_ but he was kinda stupid too. Of course Sam knew that their images matched - Dean had made a point of reminding him all the time - but he wanted to know why they matched and what they were and why they had them.

Sam eagerly relayed his questions to Dean, only for his older brother to stiffen and the fond amusement to disappear along with everything else. It was the look Dean always got right before getting angry about something. He sunk back into the flattened motel pillows, trying to figure out what about his questions made Dean angry.

Usually, it was Sam who got angry. Dad would disappear for a day, sometimes two, which didn’t make sense because Dad just sold things to people and Sam needed to know why where Dean didn’t question. But that just made it all the worse when Dean did get angry.

“Dad didn’t tell you about them?” Dean demanded harshly.

Sam quickly shook his head - Dad didn’t like to even see the marks, nevermind talk about them. That only made Dean look angrier but he couldn’t help but feel better now that he knew it wasn’t directed at him. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for Dean to quickly throw his legs over the side of the other bed and pull off his shirt. A large handprint was on Dean’s shoulder in a quiet gray but that didn’t come as a surprise to Sam. He’d seen it many times before.

“They’re called soulmarks.” Dean gingerly touched the edges of the handprint, growing quiet for a moment. “They’re like a physical connection to your soulmates. Mine and yours are the same ‘cause we’re soulmates but not in the same way that Mom and Dad were. But there’s other soulmarks too, like this one. They don’t match but that’s only ‘cause they’re really important.”

“Why are they so important?” Sam asked automatically.

“Because they’re the soulmark of the person you’re meant to love more than anyone else in the world. Those ones are for couples like Mom and Dad.” Dean nodded confidently and Sam felt the truth behind the words without the slightest bit of doubt.

“Woah.”

Sam stared at the handprint, not noticing the way Dean fidgeted under his gaze. Sure, he’d always known they were important by the way Dad refused to talk about them and the way Dean would grab his wrist sometimes to touch it. But this was much more than he could have imagined.

And it was amazing.

“How do you know when you’ve met them? Does everyone have a soulmate? What do the marks mean? Do other people have different marks?” Sam’s enthusiasm built with each of his questions. He needed to know everything he possibly could. 

Dean hesitated and for a moment, Sam was certain his brother wasn’t going to answer any of the questions but then Dean launched into an explanation almost as enthusiastic as his questions. His hands moved as he talked, betraying his excitement far more than anything else did. 

There was no break between the questions and their answers. Dean was nine years old, so much older than Sam was, and had taught him all the numbers and letters. When Dean told him something, Sam accepted it without hesitation because there hadn’t been a point in time where Dean had been wrong about something. 

It fascinated him too, much more than anything else ever had. Not just that they existed but everything else that Dean told him as well. How, with the exception of the smaller, matching marks, everyone’s soulmarks were different. That when he met one of his other soulmates, the mark wouldn’t be a soft gray any more but full of colour like the fire on his wrist. And how Dean didn’t seem to think there were people without them because that meant everyone had someone very, very important to them.

Then Dean mentioned Sam having a third mark and Sam’s face scrunched up again in disagreement. He had the bright flame on the inside of his wrist and a delicate-looking heart on one of his thighs, just as gray as Dean’s handprint. No others.

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam whined, though he would go to the grave before he admitted it. “I have yours and the one on my leg.”

Dean was already shaking his head before Sam finished talking. “Nu-uh. You have three of them.” He grew silent for a moment and quietly admitted, “Mom always used to say that it made you extra special ‘cause most people only have two.”

“Prove it,” Sam said stubbornly.

“I will!”

There was solid determination in the way Dean’s hand wrapped around Sam’s wrist and he let himself be tugged towards the cramped bathroom with little resistance. His shirt was quick to go but he didn’t bother to protest, even as he was lifted up onto the bathroom counter. No amount of confusion could overcome the absolute trust he had in his brother.

A silent nudge encouraged Sam to look over his shoulder at the mirror and - oh, Dean was right. Again. But his brother had failed to mention how _different_ this one was to the others. It radiated power and intent and something more than what he knew. A lot more than what he knew. 

Three pairs of wings were piled on top of each other, each bigger than the pair before it. They took up almost the entirety of his back, shoved together as if the mark itself was really much bigger than any physical surface could be. Individual feathers could be picked out, intricately detailed even in the soft grey they appeared in but that wasn’t the only part of the wings. Lightning and fire and earth seemed to hold the wings together, showing up in the spaces between the feathers and where bone would normally be. They were both beautiful and impossible. 

Sam couldn’t wait until he could see what it looked like in full and everything that came with it. Meeting someone with slightly awkward revelations as they both realized what they were to each other. Seeing what mark his own soul had made on their body. Hopefully, he’d meet them soon and then Dean would meet his and everything would be perfect.

It was frustrating as he tried to reach around to touch it, the mark just out of reach. But it was even more frustrating when he finally touched it and it turned out to feel the same as the rest of his skin.

No spark. 

No zap as his fingers brushed the edge of lightning. 

Giving up with a heavy sigh, Sam looked up at Dean and he stopped himself from asking to get down. His brother wasn’t looking back at him or even at the wings imprinted onto his back but rather at the handprint on Dean’s still bare shoulder. Dean jerked back as he realized Sam was looking at him, a scowl on his face. 

“Dad’s wrong,” Dean retorted. Sam didn’t get the chance to reply before Dean pushed forward. “This handprint could be _anyone’s_.”

Sam frowned. After everything he’d just learned, that just wasn’t right. “It’s not just anyone’s handprint though, it’s your soulmate’s handprint.”

“Yeah but that’s the problem.” Dean turned his scowl down at the sink.

“Why? If they’re your soulmate, that’s means they’re special because you’ll always love each other, no matter what.” Sam tried to mimic the look Dean or Dad got at the end of one of their “discussions.” 

Something in Dean wavered. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed. Dad will be back soon.”

Sam slid off the counter with a thud, even though his mind was still buzzing from everything he’d learned. His shirt was easily pulled back on as Dean started checking the door, the shotgun under the bed, and the salt lines at all possible entrances. Just like always, even if Dean and Dad won’t tell him why. 

For all he knew, it was something everyone did. He climbed into the bed, facing away from the lamp because Dean probably wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon given how concentrated he’d been on the paperback earlier. If anything, knowing he had a soulmate - three of them even - out there only lulled him to sleep a bit faster than normal. When John Winchester got back to the motel room, both of his sons were sleeping comfortably and he was unaware of the conversation they’d had.

By the time morning came around again, they were back in the Impala with their sights on a new town with its own mysteries. As normal to them as sliced bread. Eventually, memories of the exact town and the exact motel room faded from Sam’s mind but the conversation with Dean that night didn’t.

It wasn’t until Sam and Dean were finally allowed to enroll in school that Sam realized just how abnormal their family was. He found out that Thanksgiving dinners weren’t usually spent gathered around with takeout and that most kids weren’t going to believe him when he told them how many schools he’s gone to. Few siblings shared soulmarks too, usually twins and never as far apart in age as him and Dean. That was about the same time that Sam started to question everything, especially Dad.

Then one night Dean told Sam about the monsters and everything else hiding in the dark, and how Dad was fighting them all to keep them safe. Sam looked at John Winchester with a bit more respect. 

But only for a while.

The older Sam got, the more he craved having a normal life. A life where he could have all three of his soulmates around and not have to worry about them disappearing for a month or two or forever. He wanted to watch them go out and not wonder if they were going to die this time. His Dad didn’t understand that.

Ultimately, that was the reason he applied for Stanford, along with other, smaller places. He prayed something would work out and when he found out about the full-ride scholarship, he was thrilled. And after a particularly loud and violent argument with his dad, he snuck out with a grin so wide his cheeks hurt and the knowledge that things were finally working out for him. 

People were different at Stanford. They were more open about their soulmarks and some didn’t even believe in them. In between writing papers and taking exams, people went to parties and showed off their marks, some vibrant and others not, but none of them were hidden away like they had been in the Winchester family or in public school. There was an understanding too. Like how nobody brought up the way Brady started acting after Fall Break, just a quiet understanding about the missing mark on his forearm.

Brady was the reason why Sam was dragged along to some party that night with a scowl on his face. He had a fifteen page paper first thing Monday morning and more readings than he could ever get through in time for his classes. A party wasn’t exactly at the top of his to-do list. 

Then Sam saw _her_. 

She was standing by a table, a tacky red cup in one hand while her other arm was held in front of her like a shield. A little bit awkward but no more than Sam was. Their eyes caught for a moment and Sam quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught looking but his gaze was drawn back again only moments later.

“Go talk to her, you big doofus.” Brady shoved Sam’s shoulder with a teasing grin. “I doubt she’ll bite even if you want her to.”

Sam laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

“Obvious doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

An elbow was rammed into Sam’s side and he stepped back, glancing over to his shoulder to find her looking back at him. Brady didn’t see any problems with giving him a shove in her direction, a joking “good luck” shouted at his back as he finally walked over to her. His heart was hammering away in his chest. This felt important. She seemed to think so too with the way she was watching him expectantly, bottom lip being worried between her teeth.

They stood there awkwardly. Their eyes would catch and then one of them would look away again, unsure of what to do or say. But a smile still grew on Sam’s face despite that. She was beautiful and soft and everything he’d ever wanted. The only thing holding him back at that point was the swarm of butterflies that had decided his stomach was a good place to make home. 

“So,” she started, flashing a brief smile up at him. “Are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to say hello?”

His cheeks warmed at the teasing. “No - I mean, yes, definitely yes.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Hi.”

She laughed and the sound couldn’t compare to anything else Sam had ever heard. “Hi. Now, tell me your name.”

“Sam Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam Winchester. I’m Jessica Moore. Call me Jess though.”

His face scrunched up as he reached down to rub at his thigh. The itching sensation had started up out of the blue, so intense that he only just noticed as Jess did the same. 

Then Sam realized just where the itching sensation was coming from. 

Jess must have realized it at the same time because her head suddenly shot up and their eyes caught in silent understanding. The grin on Sam’s face stretched so wide that his cheeks started to hurt and the butterflies in his stomach weren’t butterflies anymore but rather tiny herds of elephants and he wanted to lift her up right then and there to spin her around the room. He hadn’t seen a soulmate of his for two years. It was more amazing than he remembered.

“Tell me that just happened to you too,” she insisted, breathlessly. “I’ll hit you if I think you’re lying.”

“It didn’t,” he lied.

She swatted his arm, failing miserably at looking angry, and he backed up with a laugh. 

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy. “It did, promise. Wanna get out of here, by any chance?”

“Depends on just what you have in mind, Sam Winchester. I’m no cheap date.”

He took her to a diner a few blocks away and they shared an order of french fries, each with their own chocolate shakes. Their fingers intertwined across the table and her hands were so soft and small in comparison to his own. That diner is where Sam swore to memorize the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled and how she stopped paying attention to everything else when she was thinking and everything else that made her Jess.

They talked there for a long time. About everything and anything. How Jess was in pre-med because she couldn’t stand seeing anyone in pain. How Sam was in pre-law but didn’t always know why between the competition and the intensity. Their families. Expectations about their marks. Confessions about wanting a family.

Eventually, the waitress kicked them out and for a few minutes, they just stood outside the door in the wake of their high. Phone numbers were exchanged but Jess didn’t come back to Sam’s dorm room and he didn’t go back to hers. A promise lingered between them to meet again soon.

Sam kicked off his pants the moment he got back to his dorm room and traced the heart on his thigh as he collapsed onto his bed. It wasn’t that soft grey anymore, not impersonal or distant. It was red like the flame on his wrist but warm and comforting and steady where the mark he shared with Dean was bright and angry and ever-moving. Both were there and bother were important to him. 

The need to share the news overtook him and he scrambled off the bed to fish his phone out of his pants pocket. Within moments, he was dialing Dean’s main number, eager to tell his brother all about Jess.

But Dean didn’t answer.

Not the first time or the second or even the third. Sam gave up with a frown and went to bed with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. 

Dean phoned him back a week later while Sam was sitting at his desk with textbooks laid out in front of him and a pressing need for more coffee. He fumbled with the phone for a few moments with a quiet “Hey Dean.” 

“Heya Sammy. Sorry ‘bout not phoning back sooner,” came Dean’s voice.

“Hunt?”

“Yeah, a nasty SOB. Killed five people before we even got here.”

“Was it a rugaru?”

“Shifter.”

There was a beat of silence. Sam leaned back in his chair and chewed at the inside of his cheek as he tried to think of something, anything to say. Or rather, how to tell Dean about Jess.

“So,” Dean stated after a moment.

Sam hunched his shoulders. “So?”

A weary sigh was heard over the line and Sam was grateful he couldn’t see Dean’s exhaustion as well. “Why’d you call me up after months of radio silence?”

“No reason,” he blurted out. Almost as soon as he’d said the words, he regretted it but the lie was already out there and he didn’t know what else to say. “I just wanted to check in. Been a while and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Sammy-”

“Get off that phone, boy!” a new voice sounded in the background, too loudly for the situation. “We gotta head out, ya see? There’s a coven over in Michigan and we don’t have the time to waste yammering on the phone.”

Sam’s confidence plummeted. “Look, you’re obviously busy anyways. And fine. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Sam-”

“Bye Dean.”

There was another protest from the other line but Sam hung up before he could hear the rest of it. He glanced over at the textbooks still spread out across his desk and then back at his phone. Then he phoned Jess, even though he knew she had a term paper due in two days, and if his voice wavered as he talked to her, that was no one else’s business.

Him and Jess fell into a rhythm from there, revolving around each other as they started to fall in love between coffee dates and papers and kisses stolen between classes. She became the first thing Sam thought about in the morning and the last thing he thought about at night. 

It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. They argued every couple of weeks about Sam keeping secrets from Jess and sometimes about how Sam was a bit too paranoid of strangers. But also about how Jess refused to answer the phone when her sister called and how sometimes she’d accidentally stay out too late to get the transit back home. Somehow though, that just made things perfect in a way they wouldn’t have been otherwise. 

One night, Jess held out her arm where there was nothing but clear skin and Sam stared at it, confused.

“Coffee stains,” she said as an explanation.

And it was one.

Sam kissed the unmarked skin. “When?”

“I was sixteen.”

“And they…?”

“Accidentally spilled his coffee on me. I didn’t actually realize what was happening at first but he did. Then he died a few hours later in motorcycle accident. I.. didn’t go to his funeral.”

Sam reached for Jess and pulled her close, ignoring the way her shoulders started to shake. 

There were a million things he could tell her. He could tell her about the awe and amazement he felt everytime he looked at the expansive soulmark on his back. Or how his dad used to mock him for needing the “protection of angels” before he’d turn around and verbally tear into Dean for having a man’s handprint on his shoulder. Or that he loved her no matter what. But he didn’t. Instead, he tightened his arms and held on a little bit harder.

During their last year at Stanford, they moved in together and found out messes and baking in the middle of the night and hair in drain were things they could live with. They fell further in love with each other.

Until Dean showed up in middle of the night.

“I don’t want to do this alone,” were the words that tore him away from Jess.

There was no intention on Sam’s part for it to last more than a couple days. He had an interview for law school and the rest of his life lined up for him, including a small box with ring inside hidden away at the bottom of his duffel bag. If it hadn’t been Dean asking him, he’d have told them where to go.

That didn’t make things any less tense between them. The hunt was a relatively easy one, considering, and they figured out where John Winchester would be next. Except Sam didn’t want to stick around too long. He had a life to get back to, even with his dad missing.

Dean didn’t quite understand that. 

But Sam got back to his apartment, smiled at the sight of cookies on the kitchen counter, and then everything went to hell.

Within minutes of getting back, he was phoning Dean again and staring up at the smoke drifting into the sky. Sam didn’t even know when phoning Dean first had become an instinct again but it did and then he phoned 911 just as Dean had told him to. 

Sam dealt with the firemen in a haze, telling them some story about how he’d gotten home just in time to see it start to burn. By the time he climbed into the Impala, he didn’t remember the details of what he’d told them or that he had an interview the next morning. Just the cookies sitting on the counter. Just Jess’s face twisted into fear and pain as the fire ate her alive. Just the box hidden away in his duffel bag.

The doubts he had about Mom’s death being an accident disappeared as they started to drive. There were too many parallels for it to be a coincidence. Too many parallels meaning being the exact same circumstances.

The demon that did this was going to die by his hands. 

They drove for almost half an hour before Sam felt an itching sensation in his thigh, just as intense and distracting as the first time he felt it. His pants caught as he desperately tugged them down, needing to see it for himself. 

The car swerved. “Hey! There needs to be at least two layers of clothing between your ass and my baby at all times.”

Sam ignored him as his hand trembled above the soulmark.

It wasn’t a warm, comforting red anymore. Nor was it a soft, anonymous grey either. No, the soulmark had turned into a vivid, black mark, similar to the hint of a mark he’d seen glimpses of on his dad’s collarbone. A strangled sound left his throat as he realized what it meant.

Jess was dead. And not only was she dead but she’d just spent the last hour in unbearable amounts of pain as Sam drove away. As Sam did nothing to try and save her.

Dean pulled over and silently turned the engine off before he reached over the console to pull Sam into an awkward hug.

“She’s my soulmate,” Sam choked out, fingers clutching onto his brother’s shirt.

A hum moved through Dean’s chest. “That she was.”

“And I-” Sam’s voice dropped. “I loved her. Wanted to marry her and not just - fuck - because she was my soulmate.”

“Figured so. Just thought she was the other one.”

The other one. The one Sam had wished Jess had been for a long time. That her coffee stains had belonged to him and his wings had belonged to her. Now he had to live knowing that someday, he’ll move on and that person would fill the gaps just a little bit better than Jess ever could have. That… wasn’t comforting to him, not now. Probably not ever.

Dean pulled away and started up the Impala. “C’mon, we gotta get moving. Can’t have it turning into a chick flick around here, Samantha.”

Sam tried to laugh but the sound that came out of his throat couldn’t be described as such. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”


	2. All A Trick

Hunting wasn’t as bad Sam remembered. Dad may have gotten himself into more trouble than he could handle and the nightmares were a new but unsurprising development but it was worth it because sometimes, they actually got to save some people. And other times, he could forget about Jess, even if it was only for a few hours. Even with the visions and hunting down Yellow Eyes, he felt like he was getting some equilibrium back.

Then John Winchester traded his life and the Colt for Dean’s and everything was thrown off balance again. 

Sam hadn’t thought his dad cared so much that he’d turn to the demon who killed their mother in order to save Dean. When he saw the dead body on the ground, he’d wanted to yell and shout until everything went back to normal. But Dad stayed dead. The visions continued. The feeling that they were just one part of something much bigger didn’t go away.

Those were the sort of thing he didn’t tell Dean. Dean who was just stubborn enough to ignore the coincidences that couldn’t really be coincidences. Not when Yellow Eyes was orchestrating everything. 

That was why Sam kept looking for regular hunts, as a bit of a reprieve from everything else going on. This hunt seemed to fit the bill perfectly and they were already in the area. Professor took a tumble out of his office window and there was an urban legend that the campus was haunted. A regular salt and burn if he ever saw one. And a perfect yet brief distraction.

“So, how long have you been working here?” Sam asked, ignoring Dean’s eye roll. 

The janitor shrugged. “Been moping this floor for six years now.”

And just like that, this wasn’t an ordinary hunt anymore. 

Memories of that party where he first met Jess filtered into his mind as the same itching sensation spread through his entire back. Sam didn’t need a mirror to know the mark wasn’t a soft grey anymore. The next time he’d look at it, it would be filled with colour and he’d finally have gotten the thing he’d wished for years ago. 

Sam stared at the janitor - and he didn’t even know the man’s _name_ yet - in disbelief. The middle of a hunt was the last place he’d hoped to find his third soulmate. Except the janitor wasn’t looking back at him, didn’t even seem to be affected by it whatsoever.

Sometimes, people’s soulmates didn’t match up. He knew this, knew having a mark wasn’t a guarantee of anything. How couldn’t he? So he didn’t say anything even as the janitor continued to talk and promised himself he would be back later.

An expectant look from Dean had Sam pulling out the EMF but everything still felt off. He had to check two, three, four times to make sure nothing was really turning up. Shrugging off Dean’s concerned glance was more difficult but he managed it and managed to leave the rest of the conversation to Dean until the janitor left them to their own devices. 

“Dude, what was up with that?” Dean demanded once the janitor was gone.

“Nothing.” Sam sighed at the disbelieving expression Dean wore. “Just drop it, okay? It wasn’t anything important.”

They left after that with almost nothing to go on except a description of a girl and average EMF levels. Sam was quiet until they got back to the hotel but he couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about it. Dean was acting like more of a dick than usual. Which was only further cemented by the porn he found his laptop open to when he went to start researching about possible deaths.

The frustration only continued as they started to snipe at each other, the insults getting worse and worse with each passing hour. The bathroom door not closing properly didn’t help. Neither did frat boy who was forced to slow dance with an alien, however hilarious it was. Or Sam’s laptop mysteriously going missing. And definitely not the food Sam found in the fridge which was more mold than it was actual food. At least until Bobby showed up and the record was put straight.

Within all that, Sam had forgotten about the mark. Which shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise because both him and Dean had the remarkable ability to forget about everything else while in the midst of a hunt.

Then he drew the line between this Trickster and the janitor, and that realization hit a lot worse than the first one.

Sam didn’t notice Bobby and Dean exchange a _look_ because he was too busy shuffling to the bathroom as nervous desperation built up inside of him. The door still couldn’t close but it was good enough for him to strip off his shirt. It fell to the floor and he stood there. Incapable of both putting his shirt back on and turning around to look in the mirror. 

This was only a confirmation of what he already knew. There’d be nothing surprising about this. Sam took a deep breath to ready himself then turned around and looked at his back over his shoulder.

His hands shook. “Shit.”

Each of the feathers had been filled in with a warm gold but that wasn’t all. Blue-tinted lightning was still interwoven with the design and for a moment, he could have sworn it was actually radiating light. Fire burned along the edges of the outer feather, consuming and maintaining the wings. And earth was in the centre, brown and green supporting all three pairs of wings where bones should have been.

The image itself was familiar and not just in the way that he’d seen it almost daily since he was five years old. No, the familiarity went further than that. Further than he could explain. 

It was difficult to connect his soulmark to the smirking janitor at the university. Though, Sam guessed a janitor wasn’t all he was, possibly not even part of it. But the Trickster had killed people and it was Sam’s job to put a stop to that, regardless of whether those people had been grade-A assholes or not. It wasn’t the Trickster’s or anyone else’s place to play God.

Sam pulled his shirt back on and slunk out of the bathroom, ignoring the way Bobby and Dean watched him. Planning how to take out the monster of the week had never been more difficult but he threw himself into it regardlessly, suggesting ideas left and right which was more than enough to get rid of Dean’s suspicion. Not enough to get rid of Bobby’s but at least Bobby wouldn’t ask.

Or so Sam thought. 

Crunchtime came faster than it ever had before, after they got proof that the janitor’s the Trickster and Sam and Dean faked an argument with Bobby waiting for them. But Bobby stopped him outside the front door, a frown on his face.

“Kid, ya alright?” came the cautious voice of the older man. 

Sam huffed, a stake in one hand. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Cause you look a bit like someone bought ya a puppy, gave it to ya, and then shot it not a minute later.”

“Just a bit?”

“More like a lot.”

“Bobby…”

Bobby sighed and went into the building, leaving Sam to trail after him. Things moved too fast from there on out to get more than the highlights. Supermodels or maybe porn stars threw Dean around the room. A bad horror flick character flung a chainsaw at him and Bobby. Eyes followed Sam around the room paired with a smirk that spoke of utter confidence. And then Dean drove a stake through the Trickster’s heart with Sam’s help.

Blaming Dean would have been easy as Sam walked out of the campus building in a daze. So would suddenly spilling his guts about the Trickster being his soulmate but all it took was one glance at his older brother to know he couldn’t put that sort of guilt on him. Remembering that was the final punch to the stomach. It meant they were no longer under the Trickster’s influence and no amount of reminders about needing to put the Trickster down would erase the fact that Sam’s third soulmate was dead.

There was only one thing left to confirm it.

The ride back to the hotel was spent in anxious silence for Sam as he ignored the easy way Dean and Bobby joked around, trading insults and one-liners. He knew that at any moment, he would feel that familiar sensation just under the surface of his skin. The soulmark would disappear entirely. That was what happened when someone wasn’t grieving for the death of their soulmate anymore, though Sam didn’t know that from experience. 

But the sensation never came. Not when they got back to the hotel and then sent Bobby on his way. Not in the Impala as they left for the next town. Not the next day when they started to scour newspapers and online blogs for a possible hunt.

A week passed by before Sam let himself consider the possibility that the Trickster wasn’t as dead as they thought he was. A glance in the mirror one morning before getting into the shower only confirmed his suspicion; the soulmark was still as bright as it had been the last time he looked at it. 

Sam didn’t know what to about it. 

On one hand, the Trickster was still a monster, still something they had to hunt. So, he should tell Dean about it and then they’d go hunt the guy down again. Or he could keep it to himself. Maybe he’d try researching some things about the Trickster himself, try to hunt him down or maybe he’d just let him be.

One night, when Dean was at the bar as oblivious about the Trickster as ever, Sam stood in the middle of the room. He’d found rituals to summon Loki and other mischievous gods but nothing broader. Nothing he could use.

“Hey, uh, Trickster?” Sam said out loud, feeling ridiculous, “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Ringing bells answered him and confetti and balloons started to appear from nowhere, falling from the ceiling. And he started to laugh, loud and hysterical. An answer, especially one so direct, was the last thing he had expected. Everything about the Trickster was the last thing he expected. 

The confetti and balloons were still laying on the floor by the time Dean got back to the room because it turned out spontaneously appearing party supplies weren’t also spontaneously disappearing party supplies. 

“Dude, did you have a party in here?” Dean asked, staring at the bright yellow balloon on his bed.

Sam looked around the room, considering for a moment. “Nope.”

Not explaining was more than worth the confused look on Dean’s face for the rest of the morning.

* * *

Over one hundred Tuesdays.

Over one fucking hundred Tuesdays.

Sam couldn’t even accurately say how long he’d been re-living the same day, how many times he’d seen Dean die because somewhere around one hundred, he lost count. It wasn’t like he had any way to keep track. Dean just kept on finding new, creative ways to die.

It had to be a Trickster, only made all the more obvious when he spotted the man using strawberry syrup instead of maple for the first time since he’d arrived at the Mystery Spot. These things didn’t change. And Tricksters had the metabolism of a fly, explaining the syrup, as well as the right mix of creativity and cruelty to do something like this. Any other monster would have been content to kill him and Dean, and be done with it.

Anger boiled right underneath the surface when Sam finally pinned this Trickster to a fence, stake in one hand. His hand shook as the strawberry syrup-eating man revealed himself not to be not just any Trickster, but his Trickster.

A year. A year - not including the past who knew how many Tuesdays - had gone by without a single word from the Trickster. Sam had _died_ and still not a word. Sure, he’d made the choice not to hunt the man down or even mention him to Dean but this was more than just crossing a line. This was Dean dead a hundred times over at the hands of his soulmate, a monster he’d once let roam free.

Who was more fucked, him or the Trickster?

“You know what? It’s better if I just kill you,” he snapped. His hand no longer shook as he pushed it roughly against the Trickster’s jugular. 

That cocky smirk only grew wider. “The joke’s up, kid.”

A snap and he was back in his bed at the hotel, first thing in the morning. Only it wasn’t Heat of the Moment playing on the radio anymore. And the sound of a gunshot in the parking lot didn’t make him wake up to another Wednesday.

Sam became obsessed with tracking down the Trickster. A part of him was certain that if he’d just find him again then he would get Dean back and it wasn’t a small part. So he tried to figure out how the Trickster thought, who he was likely to target, where he’d show up. Anything to suggest a pattern, at least outside of pompous jerks. 

There was no thinking about his soulmark. Or how the Trickster didn’t seem amused with this particular trick, not like back at that university campus so long ago. Or that he’d be killing his last soulmate if he went through with one of his half-assed plans. And definitely not about the possibility that Dean couldn’t come back because he was somewhere in the pits of Hell. 

At some point, his anger turned to grief and he didn’t realize it until he confronted the Trickster, certain of this last trick. 

Another snap and Sam was waking up back in that hotel room with Dean by his side. A bit confused but alive. No one came up to Dean to blow out his brains in the parking lot, no one dropped a piano on him, no dog mauled him to death.

Sam dismissed the want to track down the Trickster again as habit as they left the Mystery Spot. There was no reason for Dean to find out about that last Wednesday either or the months he spent acting like an obsessive maniac. But he also couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that half-understood the twisted way the Trickster thought about the world. He was also morbidly curious as to why the Trickster cared so much.

But those weren’t things he had the time to think about with Dean’s contract still ticking.

There was no mention of the run-in with the Trickster from Dean and Sam was grateful for that. They threw themselves - Sam more so than Dean - into trying to find a way to break Dean out of the deal. They went back to searching for Bella and the Colt. Back to trying to find a way to kill Lilith. 

While Dean spent most nights at the bar, drinking and having sex with any woman that’ll look his way, Sam was holed up in their room. Websites and online blogs had failed him a long time ago but some towns had texts hidden away in their libraries with things that might just help. There weren’t many archives Sam hadn’t been in at that point. More than a few of them mysteriously had missing books by the time he left town too.

The smell of dust became a familiar one as he flipped through a book on ancient rituals. It was a heavily religious tome written some time in the sixteenth century which made it a better candidate than most of the things Sam found. 

He flipped the page and frowned. There was a post-it note stuck there, one that had definitely not been there when he took a look through the book earlier. 

Not only that but the ink was an obnoxious neon green.

_not going 2 work, sammy. trust me -xoxo_

Sam stared at the note for a few moments. How did it get in there? And how did someone know he was going to take this book? The words wavered after a moment and there was a new message for him. Again in neon green.

_don’t u recognize little ol’ me?_

There was only one creature Sam knew of that could bend reality like that as well as cared enough about him and Dean’s deal to warn him off of something. Only one creature that was this obnoxious too.

However, the Trickster wasn’t someone he was going to be taking any sort of advice from. Sam put the note to the side and started reading on stubbornly. But after a few moments, he was glancing back at the note again. The words had changed again, seemingly just waiting for him to look at it.

_what am i? say it out loud!_

Sam scowled and went back to the book. It was difficult to figure out whether the ritual was legitimate or not. It sounded real and it felt real but so did a lot of things. The illegible notes along the sides weren’t actually making it any easier for him and he couldn’t tell if they were important to the ritual or not. 

When he reached the end of the page, he groaned and slammed the book shut. Yet another dead end given those last couple of sentences. 

His eyes wandered back over to the note. 

_see? torture wouldn’t b a good look on u_

Sam grimaced. 

_also fails 2 mention all sacrifices would go 2 hell too_

Then. 

_funny, am i rite or am i rite?_

A snort escaped from him before he could stop it. “Are you trying to be helpful or distract me?”

_;)_

That earned the Trickster an eye roll as Sam reached for another book. A page was bookmarked in it from an earlier scan through but he was fairly certain the book wasn’t actually referencing Hell. Once he’d flipped it open, he glanced back down at the desk but the post-it note had disappeared entirely and despite everything, he hadn’t really been expecting that.

Sam swallowed and forced himself to turn back to the new book. Letting himself feel any sort of fondness for the Trickster was a bad idea anyways, soulmate or not. The memory of Dean dying in front of him again and again should have been more than enough to make him ignore the Trickster entirely. He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t. 

Despite the post-it note disappearing, the Trickster didn’t give up. Sam didn’t quite know how he kept finding him but he wasn’t going to protest that much when it was almost entirely positive. 

Once, he came into one of their many motel rooms with breakfast only to find a warm cinnamon bun waiting for him on the nightstand and Dean in the shower. Another time, the mattress and sheets had been replaced between renting the room and coming back from canvassing. Movies that hadn’t even come out yet were suddenly waiting for him on his laptop. Waitresses would come to their table with orders for pie or cake. Sam wasn’t exactly missing the undertone to it all and he forced himself to slow down on the research. There weren’t that many places left to search anyways.

And the notes continued as well. They’d always appear right when Sam wasn’t expecting them to, including one memorable time when he got out of the shower to find a message waiting in the steam on the mirror. 

Few of the notes were actual advice and more were sassy comments and mocking anecdotes. Then there were the few that would go on about how inaccurate such and such thing was, particularly when it came to people long since dead. Finding out that the Trickster hadn’t even been born in this millennium was something Sam was still having troubles with. 

At least Dean never found the notes or noticed the way Sam often had dessert ordered for him by random strangers.

It wasn’t until nearly a month later - only two months left and they _had_ to find the Colt - that Sam saw the Trickster again. As always, the timing could have been better. Or maybe given their track record, it couldn’t have been. 

Sam ran into a long since emptied classroom, shotgun aimed and ready. It was only a matter of time before one of the ghosts appeared and he had no intention of being caught off guard. Again. He immediately zeroed in on the person sitting at the desk, body tensing and finger moments from pushing down on the trigger.

The crunch of someone eating popcorn threw him off guard almost immediately. 

The Trickster licked butter off of his fingers before waving at Sam with a lazy smirk in place. His feet were up on some teacher’s desk and there was a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. He couldn’t have look more out of place if he tried. Actually, no. Sam could think of a few ways he could. 

Sam didn’t lower the shotgun. “What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighbourhood. Figured I’d stop by to see how you boys were doing with whole killing Lilith thing.” The Trickster shrugged and threw a piece of popcorn in the air. It landed in his mouth perfectly. “I’m guessing pretty badly.”

“No, what are you doing _here_? As in, the middle of a haunted elementary school, here.”

“Eh, it was convenient timing for me. Didn’t check if it was for you too.”

Sam groaned then hastily glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing there. At least not yet.

“Didja miss me, Sammy?” the Trickster asked, eyes alit with glee. 

“Don’t call me that.” Then after a beat, “No.”

“Ha, I knew it!”

“I didn’t - look, do you mind? Getting killed by a ghost at this point would be almost embarrassing,” Sam asked. His eyes flickered from place to place, expecting one of the ghosts to appear at any moment. It was always the worst when it was a kid.

“Sam Winchester, one of Azazel’s special children, bested by the ghost of a seven year old,” the Trickster said solemnly, holding the seriousness for a split second before grinning. “Gotta say, you can’t get much more stereotypical than hiding the bodies in the boiler room though.”

A shot went off on the other side of the building.

Sam looked over his shoulder then glanced back into the classroom but the Trickster was already long gone, popcorn and all. There was no hesitating as he took off, feet leading him not towards the sound of the shot but the boiler room. Dean was more than capable of handling himself until some bones were burned. 

It wasn’t until him and Dean were having a post-hunt beer that he realized he’d taken the Trickster’s word for granted. No doubting, not even a confirmation. Just an offhand comment from a monster who’d tormented him.

The question wasn’t really how he’d started trusting the Trickster but rather _when_. 

After that, Sam was suddenly seeing post-it notes with horrid neon green ink everywhere. The worst part wasn’t even the colour, it was that Sam found himself replying to them, outloud, as if the Trickster was right there beside him. Sure, the other stuff continued as well but the Trickster had to somehow be around all the time in order to create these notes.

There was one on the toothpaste when he went to brush his teeth.

A cheesy pick-up line was tucked into his back pocket.

Enthusiastic recommendations were on menus. 

Suggestive comments were hidden away under his pillow.

One evening, Sam opened up his bag and found all of his stuff replaced with post-it notes of all colours and shapes and sizes. Most of them disappeared into nothing once he tipped the bag over but a few didn’t. It didn’t make his stuff reappear. He turned around to find the other bag gone entirely. Meaning everything of his had suddenly done a disappearing act.

Telling himself that it could have been worse didn’t make it any better. The Trickster got his kicks out of killing jerks in the most humiliating ways possible. 

But Dean was also going to be back any moment with pizza and beer. Sam wasn’t exactly too eager to explain why all of his stuff had been replaced with obnoxious post-it notes. No lie would be able to cover something like that up. Not with the glaringly obvious to the contrary. 

“Is this the equivalent of you pulling my pigtails or are you trying to confess your undying love for me?” Sam asked the empty room. “Because either way, you’ve seriously regressed to the fourth grade.”

“Regressed? Woah, slow down there. I never actually moved past the fourth grade.” The Trickster leered at him, nodding. “Gotta admit, you’d be very pretty in pigtails.”

There had been nothing to announce the Trickster’s sudden presence. Sam wasn’t surprised however. Actually, he itched for a way to get back at the Trickster. If he knew how to prank an all-powerful being whose entire MO was practical jokes, he’d be planning right that very moment. Unfortunately, there was no shampoo to replace with hair dye or beer bottles to lather superglue on. 

Maybe that meant he hadn’t moved past the fourth grade either.

“You sure you’d want to do that? Start a prank war with little old me?” The Trickster waggled his eyebrows enticingly but his grin was wide and eager.

“No.”

“Come on, I’d even make it easy for you!”

Sam opened his mouth to voice his declination when someone kicked the door. The words froze in his throat. The Trickster disappeared right in front of his eyes and Sam only caught a hint of the glee turning into something solemn. 

“Sammy, open the damn door!” Dean called from outside. “Otherwise I’m going back to Baby and eating these beauties all by myself.”

He scrambled to open the door and come up with a suitable excuse for why his stuff was missing at the same time. When he turned back towards the bed, Dean grinning as he put the pizzas down on the table, all of his stuff was spread out on the bed. As if it had been there the entire time.

Dean gave him an odd look as he turned back around but Sam dutifully ignored it in favour of pizza. Which Dean was more than happy to do as well. A note appeared on the bedside table later that night while Dean was passed out in the other bed.

_srry, had a date to keep. didn’t wanna ditch starla in vegas_

Bullshit.

It was just bullshit.

The words didn’t waver into anything else though, no matter how long Sam stared at it for. He still couldn’t figure out how the Trickster was his soulmate, how the monster of the week had turned out to be tied to him for life. Vaguely disbelieving, he finally went to bed after a while. This time it was with refreshed hopes that he’d wake up in the morning to find his soulmark was no longer inked in vibrant colours. 

(That was a lie, likely the worst of them all. But Sam didn’t dare correct himself even in the comfort of his own head.)

In the morning, the note was gone again. Only this time it had been replaced by fresh coffee with a bit of cream and no sugar. Just the way he liked it. 

The third time the Trickster showed up after the Mystery Spot, Sam wasn’t aware of it.

He woke up in the middle of the night, half wrapped around the sheets and covers as usual, and Dean was snoring in the next bed over. Something must have woken him up. There wouldn’t have been telling what either until he reached over to the other side of the bed and found the covers slightly disturbed and still warm. Only one creature out there could have gotten past all of their wards and protections, especially given the hex bags they’ve been using from Ruby. 

It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. All it took was a glance at the clock before his eyes fell closed again and he was drifting off to sleep.

As if to make up for that moment, the little things the Trickster gave him for the next week weren’t the things he enjoyed. Like a nice chicken caesar salad at lunch or a warm scone with his morning coffee. No, instead they were pieces of double chocolate cake and cupcakes with more icing than cupcake and too-sweet milkshakes. 

Dean wouldn’t shut up about him “finally finding his sweet tooth,” no matter how many times Sam insisted he didn’t actually want any of them. 

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter because time was ticking by too fast. 

There was no protesting when Dean ordered Sam to get them breakfast a week before the deal was due. No complaining, no bitching. He just went and did it. The waiter stared at him suspiciously as he stood awkwardly at the front of the diner, waiting for his order. It was still early, ridiculously early. But given the mess they’d made at the mayor’s house the night before, it was better than they got out of town as soon as possible.

The waiter finally handed him a paper bag and Sam turned to go without a word. Until he spotted a familiar figure sitting at a table by the entrance, watching him with amber eyes. 

“Dean-o’s not going to spontaneously combust if you leave ‘im alone for a while.”

Sam sighed but still sat in the free chair across from the Trickster. “You sure? ‘Cause I’m not.”

“A bit desperate, is he?” the Trickster mused.

The confident look the Trickster wore didn’t slip as Sam stared in unamused silence. Dean was desperate. They both were. So much so that Sam had seriously considered asking an immortal serial killer how to keep Dean alive forever. 

Killing Lilith was the only plan either of them had left regardless of how much research Sam and Bobby had done. And that was much more likely to kill them both than it was to keep Dean alive. Sam had to try it anyways. Anything to make sure that Dean didn’t die because of him. Anything not to see that flame go dark for the first time in his life. Sam didn’t think he could bear it any better than Dean had.

“A bit, yeah.” Sam’s voice cracked. “Good thing you warned us about that ritual. Dean might have tried it at this point.”

“And you?”

The corners of Sam’s lips twitched. “Months ago.”

“You don’t learn, do you, kid?”

“No, but it turns out that learning isn’t the same as understanding.”

The Trickster rolled his eyes in exaggerated disbelief and popped out of existence. Something sat a bit differently in Sam’s stomach as he sat there for a little while longer and took a moment to himself for the first time in a long time. Then he remembered he’d have the chance for many more moment like this one sooner rather than later and hurried back to the motel. Dean was waiting for him.


	3. Play Your Part

Dean was dead.

Or rather, Dean was ripped to shreds by hell hounds while his soul was dragged down to the pits of hell and nothing Sam had done had stopped it. 

Dean was dead. 

And Lilith was very much alive. Sam wanted nothing more than to find her and tear her apart with his own hands but the last time he tried that, it didn’t work out so well. He didn’t even have anyone else to help him this time. Just Bobby and a bunch of useless obscure rituals rolling around his head.

Dean was _dead_. 

No amount of shouting at the sky was going to change that. Apparently, neither was demanding deals with crossroads demons or making sure that Dean was buried instead of cremated. Sam hadn’t been able to handle giving him a hunter’s funeral while he still clung to the chance of Dean coming back.

The flame imprinted on his wrist went dark only hours after he watched something invisible tear Dean’s body to shreds. It served as a constant reminder of his brother’s death. Every time he’d go to rub at it - a nervous gesture he’d had since he was little - he’d remember it wasn’t that bright, hot red anymore. Long sleeves weren’t enough to hide the evidence away from him.

Sam didn’t even leave Dean’s grave for two weeks. Just in case. 

Ruby was still in Hell too and he hadn’t spotted a single post-it note, obnoxious neon green ink or otherwise, since Dean died. He wasn’t sure what to think about either of those things. But it still meant he was entirely alone and he preferred it that way, at least for now. 

Once he left Dean’s grave, most of his time was spent in hotel rooms or harassing demons, witches, psychics. Anyone he could get his hands on. Back on that fateful Wednesday, he’d at least had some place to direct his grief. There was even a small voice in the back of his head that kept telling him that this was the sort of obsession the Trickster was trying to prevent but it didn’t stop him. Or even make him falter.

Time went by a lot differently now. It was marked periodically by four days after Dean died then nine days then sixteen days and so on and so forth. Remembering to do things like eat and sleep was the difficult part, right up there next to listening to Bobby’s messages. And watching trails dry up.

A dark witch’s grimoire was laid out on the motel’s desk twenty one days after Dean’s death, bound by who knew what type of leather. Sam frowned as he reached the end of the ritual he thought would bring up a soul from Hell but it sounded a lot more like a “soul from Hell” was just an allegory for “demon.” A rather specific demon but not the soul he was searching for.

Setting aside the grimoire, Sam stood up, only to freeze mid-stretch as he turned around.

But the Trickster didn’t disappear regardless of how long he stood there staring. After nearly a month of hearing nothing from him, Sam had been almost certain it would stay that way. That everything he’d been grateful had just disappeared with Dean’s death.

“How long have you been here?” Sam asked after a moment.

The Trickster shrugged, looking content spread out on the twin sized bed. “Long enough to know you’re in dire need of some down time. Or maybe just a full sized Hawaiian vacation - frilly drinks, babes, the whole works.”

“I _can’t_ , not while-”

“Give me twenty-four hours,” the Trickster cut in.

Sam gaped and stumbled back down into the chair. “What? Why?”

“To extract the pole up your ass? To force you to take a break from these boring, dusty old books? To save the life of whatever poor monster you stumble upon next? Dean-o will still be in Hell when you get back, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam snapped.

The Trickster raised an eyebrow as if that proved his point entirely.

It didn’t.

Sam tried again. “And that would be twenty four hours Dean spent in Hell without me trying to get him out.”

“All I’m saying is that one day isn’t going to change much. Plus, you give me twenty four hours and I make sure you enjoy it. So, care to join me on the wild side?” The Trickster waggled his eyebrows, smoothing out the wrinkles in the comforter.

“I-” Sam tried search for some way to decline but all of his arguments had dried up. “Fine. I’ll give you twenty four hours. But you’re not taking me to Vegas.”

“Lame.”

Sam opened his mouth to retort just as the Trickster snapped his fingers, only to stumble as he was suddenly standing once more. His eyes shut almost immediately because wherever they were, it was a lot brighter than the motel room had been. He could hear the Trickster snickering beside him as he reached out to grab something, anything, and then leaned against the cold brick of a wall. 

His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the light but when he finally was able to look around, he couldn’t recognize where they were. It was worse to find that the Trickster didn’t look out of place at all. Just oddly comfortable in both his own skin and his surroundings. At least one of them wasn’t completely clueless.

“We’re in London,” the Trickster offered with a wide smirk, and Sam’s face scrunched up into what Dean affectionately called his ‘bitchface’. “If you don’t want me to answer your questions than don’t think so loudly, kiddo.”

Sam made sure to direct his mental “fuck you” in the Trickster’s direction.

If anything, it only made his smirk wider.

The Trickster started walking away, leaving Sam to quickly follow behind him. The people on the streets didn’t look twice at them. Sam didn’t know what to think about that. It felt like they should look at them and know they’d been in America only a couple minutes ago which was ridiculous because Sam could barely believe he wasn’t in America anymore.

“So, where are we going?” Sam asked as he fell in step with the Trickster.

“You’ll see, Sasquatch.”

Sam sighed but continued to follow him, content with the way things were for the time being. It wasn’t like the Trickster would have taken him all the way to London just to kill him in some alleyway. Lawrence was the only place with enough poetic irony for that.

There was a scoff to his left as Sam was reminded that the Trickster could presumably hear his thoughts. 

His eyes wandered over to the shorter man for a moment. It occurred to him then that the Trickster really looked just like a human, down the way his shoulders slumped. There was nothing otherworldly-looking about him. Sam had long since been able to pick most monsters out of a crowd. They held themselves just a bit differently, depending on what type of monster they were; demons held themselves with an arrogant confidence most humans couldn’t pull off while vampires stalked their prey. 

If he hadn’t seen the Trickster look just as comfortable, just as human in much more stressful situations than he wouldn’t have believed him to be anything but. 

“You ready for this?” the Trickster asked as he stopped in front of a door.

It was a movie theatre. 

Not any specific movie theatre. Not a fancy movie theatre or even anything weird looking. Just an ordinary movie theatre, seemingly playing ordinary movies that Sam probably hadn’t even heard of before. It probably even sold popcorn with extra butter and giant soft drinks.

There was a challenge hidden on the Trickster’s face when Sam didn’t reply right away. The door was being held open for him and instead of saying anything, Sam stepped inside and pretended he didn’t have a couple hundred questions to ask. Starting with why the Trickster picked a movie theatre in London out of everywhere in the world he could have taken Sam.

“They sell these chocolate-covered peanut butter balls here. Never tasted anything better in my admittedly long life,” the Trickster offered.

Sam huffed, hiding a smile. “What are we watching then?”

“A double feature.” The Trickster pulled two tickets from his pocket and handed one over. “Psycho and The Black Lagoon. Gotta love old horror flicks.”

Sam let his grin slip free as he took it. Old horror movies had always been some of his favourites because back when him and Dean were-

Dean was _dead_.

What was Sam even doing here? He should have been back in America, searching for some way to get Dean out of Hell. Because there had to be a way. Or at the very least, he should have been hunting Lilith.

That he was here with the Trickster only made things worse. The Trickster wasn’t a good person. Even if he forgave him for what happened at the Mystery Spot, he knew of two people who’d died because of him. Dean would have never approved of him giving the Trickster this or any of the previous chances, soulmate or not, because the Trickster was still a monster at the end of the day. Things were different than they had been.

Because Dean was dead.

“Ready to head in?” the Trickster piped up, a bag of candy in hand.

And Sam didn’t even know his name.

“Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Sam started, hanging back a bit.

“Not a good idea? Kid, don’t tell me you’re afraid of horror movies.” 

“No, it’s not that. Not really. It’s just, well, I’m me and you’re you. I don’t know what you’re trying here but I don’t think it’s going to work.” Sam frowned as a weight settled over his shoulders but his eyes were glued to the Trickster.

There was a flash of anger in the Trickster’s eyes. “I’m me and you’re you? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

“I thought I could do this, really. But I’m not-”

“Save it for someone who cares, kiddo. Wait, I forgot, that’s a small crowd these days.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest. It wasn’t like that except that it was and there was nothing he could do to argue otherwise. It didn’t matter. Dean wouldn’t have wanted this for him - he wasn’t supposed to want this for himself. His soulmate, the one that mattered the most, should have been a woman who didn’t know the first thing about hunting, who’d look at him like he was the best thing in the world. Who’d bake in the middle of the night when she was nervous.

It should have been Jess.

A calm settled on the Trickster’s face, danger lurking underneath it. The sound of a sharp snap filled the air and their surroundings disappeared. No movie theatre or people talking in the background. Just Sam’s motel room once more. And no Trickster in sight.

Everything still smelled like buttered popcorn and the movie ticket was still being clutched in his hand. Sam wanted to shout at the ceiling, wanted the Trickster to come back and convince him of all the reasons he should have just gone along with those twenty four hours, seen what the Trickster wanted to show him. Instead, he stumbled out of the room, barely remembering to lock it behind him, and headed straight for the nearest diner where he ordered a greasy burger. 

Sam tried to throw himself back into finding a way to get Dean back but it took more effort than it had before. It didn’t matter how much he wanted and needed, rituals weren’t showing up out of the blue, demons weren’t offering any deals, monsters had no information to offer him. 

But it just made him work harder and pretend there was an end in sight.

A week after the… thing with the Trickster, Ruby showed up. New vessel and everything. Sam was so thrown off by her appearance that he barely remembered to question where she got the new vessel from. But he did and then she was gone again, for a few days.

By the time she showed up again, Sam had everything sorted out in his mind. Dean wouldn’t have wanted him to fall into any of her plans because Dean had never trusted Ruby to begin with. She may have tried to help them over the past year but unless she could help him get Dean back then he had no interest. He was better than that.

Then just as Sam was about to ask her to leave, Ruby told him she knew how to kill Lilith.

Or rather, how Sam could kill Lilith.

The risk of drinking Ruby’s blood in order to strengthen himself didn’t really occur to him. It seemed like something distant, something that wouldn’t happen to him. Convincing himself to go along with it was easy. It was something he could do. For the first time in over a year, he didn’t just have to throw himself head first into research.

Plus, with Ruby beside him urging him on, it was easy to forget about the two black marks he carried. About how he hadn’t woken up to the smell of fresh cinnamon buns since Dean died. About how he kind of missed obnoxiously green ink.

Killing Lilith was the only thing on the agenda as far as Sam was concerned. 

And drinking Ruby’s blood was the only way to achieve that but it was more difficult in action than in theory as he stared at the red dripping down her arm.

“C’mon, drink it,” she demanded, thrusting her forearm out. As if it were really that easy. “You have brains in there somewhere. Figure it out.”

Sam hesitated. “I don’t know. It just… doesn’t feel right.”

He leaned back and searched for the smallest amount of understand or at least sympathy in her eyes. There wasn’t any. Just cold appraisal. Like he was just a particularly stubborn part of a machine and she was the one unlucky enough to have to do something about it.

“Just remember, you didn’t want to do it the easy way,” Ruby warned.

Sam frowned but before he could ask, her lips were on his. He froze. She pressed against them harder until something lit up under his skin and he finally kissed back. Their lips parted as Ruby tugged at his clothes. The curves of her body were soft and supple under his hands, more enticing than even the feel of her tongue against his.

Heat filled his body better than any one night stand had when he gripped the firm flesh of her ass and drew a gasp out of her. Legs wrapped around his waist and he took full advantage of his size as he stumbled towards his bed, their lips messily in the middle. There was no room for anyone else here. Not Jessica. Not Dean. Not the Trickster. Just Ruby and the need to feel her body around him. They broke apart briefly as they nearly fell onto the bed. Sam licked his lips, tasting her there.

He was frantic as he tugged at her shirt, her hands already working on his jeans. Clear, creamy skin was laid out before him. No marks, no blemishes, _nothing_. 

Ruby was still a demon at the heart of it all. 

Some of the heat, the lust left him, even as Ruby shimmied off his jeans, seemingly oblivious to his hesitation. There was a wide grin on her face, giddy at the control she had over the situation. They didn’t speak, didn’t make a single sound outside of the soft moans and grunts. Then she reached for his undershirt, tugging it up and -

“No,” Sam snapped roughly and pulled it back down. 

Ruby faltered, somehow surprised that he was denying her.

“Just… leave it, okay?” he requested, softer now.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so old fashioned. Can I even feel up those sexy abs of yours?”

“ _No_.”

The strength behind his words surprised Sam most of all. This felt wrong. He prepared himself to push her off of him, to refuse because he didn’t even know where this was coming from. Then Ruby attacked his lips again, nipping and biting in an attempt to get him to respond.

They didn’t waste any more time.

The feeling of her body moving against his was hypnotizing. His fingers dug into her hips as they fell into the primal rhythm of their bodies and neither of them made an effort to draw it out longer than necessary. 

As Sam was riding the last waves of his orgasm, Ruby shoved her arm against his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed she was still bleeding until he tasted the iron tang of it on his lips but there was something darker to it than that. The wide, manic grin was still plastered on her face as he struggled to push her away. She didn’t so much as budge an inch. Blood continued to flow into his mouth and he refused to swallow it until it was either that or gag on it.

She pulled her arm away after a few minutes, looking amused at the sight of him. “Was that really so bad?”

Sam spat what he could onto the floor and scowled up at her. “Yes, you didn’t-”

“Didn’t what? Ask for permission? I’m not an angel, Sam. Besides, you’ll be thanking me in a few moments.”

Sam didn’t get the chance to tell her otherwise because then he felt invincible. As if he could march up to Lilith right then and there and kill her without a single problem. As if he could storm Hell itself and drag Dean out of there with just his own two hands. 

All of that from a single mouthful of blood. What more was that it right there. He could tell the difference what he was right then and what he had been just a few moments before. It was nothing like the glimpses of the future he’d gotten before or the telekinesis. And if he had more of it then who knew what he could do with it? Monsters wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Even the more difficult hunts would be simple with this sort of power running through his veins.

“Easy there, big shot,” Ruby sniped. She was already dressed and was standing over him with her arms crossed, amusement not so hidden in her eyes. “This rush? It’s nothing. We got to build you up before we take you out to play.”

Sam frowned as the feeling started to fade. “How much more?”

“I got it covered,” was all she offered him. 

The feeling of the blood being forced down his throat was almost entirely gone. Sam couldn’t really remember why he’d thought it was so bad at the time, only that he had and that he likely wasn’t going to feel that way again. Anything to make sure he kept being invincible. 

It was easy to dismiss Ruby’s arrogant look as being because she’d brought him over to her side of things. 

Ruby left before the fall set in completely, giving him a half-assed explanation of having important things to do that he didn’t really care about anyways. After knowing what it felt like to have such power at his fingertips, having it fade away made him feel like a newborn baby. His senses seemed dulled, his limbs weak. The rest of the day was spent laying in bed, craving that feeling of power and control. 

By the end of the week, he was dialing Ruby’s number and demanding she meet him.

Each time they met up over the next few months, there was more sex, more blood, more power. That feeling lingered a little bit longer, making him stronger, preparing him to kill Lilith. He didn’t understand just how weak he still was until the first time he killed a demon with his new found powers. Ruby was right there, urging him on, but the power wavered when he reached for it. More often, she threw him into the middle of something with no explanation.

There was a distance between them though. Created by Sam’s continued refusal to take everything off in her presence because at the end of the day, the mark that took up the entirety of his back was _his_. That Ruby’s skin was so very blank only made it worse.

The Trickster hadn’t been around in any capacity and Sam didn’t do anything to change that. Even if he wanted to. But trying to contact him after everything, starting at that day in London and ending with him drinking Ruby’s blood on a near constant basis, didn’t feel right. Maybe he just felt guilty for the things he said. It didn’t make him any more eager to reach out.

Which was why it came as a surprise when he walked into his hotel room - close to Dean’s grave and currently serving as a home base - and found the Trickster sitting on the counter of the small kitchenette.

Sam gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“Something’s happening,” the Trickster told him. There was a quiet frown on his face, confidence somehow leached out of him. “And it’s not that demon girl.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Sam asked in rush.

“Because it’s happening at your brother’s grave.”

Sam’s mind came to a sudden halt. Dean. Dean’s grave. Something was happening there, something important enough that the Trickster felt it necessary to come and tell him. Something outside of weeds growing overtop of it.

“Is it good or bad?” he blurted out.

“Wish I knew.”

Sam was turning on his heels before he could even process it. It didn’t matter if the Trickster was telling him the truth or not. All that mattered was Dean and Dean’s grave and that _something was happening_. Now that he knew, it was like an itch under his skin, willing him to jump into the Impala and get there as fast as he possibly could.

“What? No goodbye?”

He hesitated, hand already on the doorknob. “If you mess with my stuff, I will hunt you down.”

The Trickster laughed as Sam closed the door behind him. But he didn’t have the time to think about that particular interaction because he was rushing down the stairs, his head filled with nothing but Dean. 

Dean might be alive.

Luck was the only thing preventing him from getting pulled over along the familiar route to Dean’s grave because he was going well over the limit. Before he even got all the way up to the grave itself, he knew the Trickster had been telling him the truth. Everything in the immediate vicinity of the grave had been flattened. Including the trees.

His eyes were drawn to the epicentre of it all, though he was careful not to step inside. The ground almost seemed to be moving, shifting in place as he watched. It was difficult not to get his hopes up when hands appeared in the shifting dirt, clawing at the earth. Staying back was even more difficult when it wasn’t just hands anymore but the arms of a man and Sam carefully kept on the line. 

After all of the research and digging he’d done, it felt almost impossible that Dean could be dragged out of Hell without him so much as lifting a finger. But then, whatever it was pulled its head through and gasped.

Sam could recognize the back of Dean’s head from anywhere.

He must have made some sort of noise because it swivelled and stared at him. First there was just blind confusion there, especially when Sam didn’t dare move from where he stood, but that faded after a moment. Fondness. Like Dean wanted to climb the rest of the way out and give Sam a noogie right then and there. If Sam trembled a bit as his wrist started to itch at him, turning that black back to red then no one other than him and Dean were any wiser to it.

“What’s a guy gotta do to get some help around here?” Dean called. His voice was rough, likely from disuse and dehydration, but otherwise, it was the same as always.

Sam let himself relax and walked over. “How about not be a monster? Spirit or otherwise.”

The rest of the dirt was rather easy to push away and the only thing left was for Sam to pull him up. He offered his hand but Dean was too busy staring at him to accept it. That crease between his eyebrows was there, the one Dean got when he was trying to figure out something he didn’t understand. 

“You… didn’t bring me back from Hell then?”

“Yeah, no, that wasn’t me. I just stopped by and well,” Sam gestured to the circle of flattened shrubs and trees around them. “Figured I should stick around to see what happened.”

“Huh.” Dean held his arm out this time, his jacket pulling back just enough for Sam to see the bright red flame there. Sam took it and hauled him out with a couple pulls. “Good thing you did. Being stuck out here without a car would have sucked.”

“Dude, you’re disgusting.”

“What?”

Sam gestured at Dean himself. “There’s about an inch of dirt between you and the air. You sure you want to get into the Impala like this?”

Dean’s eyes flickered to the dirt road the Impala sat on, visibly torn. But when he looked back at Sam, there was a smirk spreading across his face. He held his arms out and took a step forward.

“No, no way. Dean, no!”

But Dean had already wrapped him into a big hug, ignoring the way he’d been holding his hands out in a desperate yet useless attempt to stop it from happening. Sam groaned. Dirt was being very purposefully rubbed into the back of his shirt. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling despite it, though he tried to hide it behind a scowl.

A shove got Dean to finally let go with a laugh and they both headed over to the Impala, trading insults the entire way. It felt surreal. Things like this just didn’t happen, not to them and not even to anyone else. 

The trunk was just as cluttered as it always had been but after a bit of shifting things around, Sam was able to find a shirt for both him and Dean. A change of pants would have to wait until later but this was more than enough for the time being. Sam slipped off his shirt with ease and dumped it in the back.

Dean made a choked noise and Sam froze. The mark. He’d forgotten about the mark and everything that went along with it. Sam turned around with the intention of explaining but his eyes were immediately drawn to Dean’s shoulder. 

The handprint Sam had always known to be there was now a reddish colour, like a scar that had just healed over. It almost looked like it was raised up, more to it than just the mark itself.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d met your soulmate?” Sam blurted out. 

“Me?” Dean barked. “What about you?”

“I was going to tell you, Dean, it just never…”

Dean was incredulous. “How long have you known for?”

“Stop making this all about me!” Sam argued. “Because I’m not the only one who met their soulmate and then decided not to tell anyone about it.”

“Well, maybe I’m finding out about it the same time you are.”

“I… Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” Dean rolled his eyes and grumbled as he snatched the keys from where Sam had dumped them in the trunk. The argument was apparently over because he was climbing into the front seat of the Impala, leaving Sam to hastily pull his shirt on. There was a choked noise from the car a few moments later.

It sounded like Dean found the iPod jack.

Sam frowned at the sound of the radio and closed the trunk. The Impala wasn’t on but Dean could have just turned on the ignition. Four months without Zeppelin or Metallica must have been worse than the actual torture itself. Except it wasn’t any of Dean’s normal hits. It wasn’t music at all.

The ground started to shake. The ringing was next. Sam barely got the chance to duck down before the Impala’s windows blew out, glass flying in every direction. His hands were tightly grasped over his ears but it still felt like they were bleeding. Then it stopped just as abruptly as it had began.

Sam cautiously stood up again but the temours didn’t come back and neither did the ringing. There was nothing left of the Impala’s windows though. Dean would have to spend some time fixing it up again. He went up front to the passenger seat and opened the door. Glass fell to the ground.

“Bobby’s?” Sam suggested.

There was a couple new cuts on Dean’s face. “Bobby’s.”

The drive was only a couple hours but it certainly felt like it was longer. Any attempts on Sam’s part to start a conversation about their respective soulmates, about Hell, about the weather were met with stony silence. He wasn’t entirely certain whether it was because Dean wanted to avoid an argument or because he was too broken up about the state of the Impala.

Understandably, Bobby slammed the door in their faces the moment he saw Dean on his doorstep. The second time they knocked, it was holy water to their faces but Bobby let them in all the same, only to turn on Dean with a silver knife.

“So, what really happened?” Bobby asked Sam while Dean was out back fixing up the Impala.

Sam frowned. “What do you mean ‘what really happened’? We told you the entire story.”

“Don’t take me for a fool. That boy shows up without so much as a scratch on him and you’re going to tell me you had nothing to do with it?” Bobby grabbed for the bottle of whiskey on the desk and poured himself a glass.

“I had nothing to do with it!”

Bobby scoffed.

“Look, the only reason I was there was a coincidence.” Sam scowled at Bobby’s unspoken disbelief. “Really. If I’d known of a way to get Dean back, don’t you think I would have told you?”

“No. Especially not if it were a whole lot morally wrong.”

“I…,” Sam hesitated as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “The Trickster showed up in my hotel room, okay?” Bobby’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t make a deal with him or anything, I swear! He just told me something was going on at Dean’s grave and I, well, panicked.”

“You rushed over like a damn fool without even thinking of the consequences,” Bobby extrapolated. Sam nodded helplessly. “You think that Trickster of yours had anything to do with it?”

“No.”

Bobby stared at him for a moment then threw back the glass of whiskey without another word. Then he picked up the phone and started dialing numbers. By the time the hour was up, all three of them were on the road again, heading towards the residence of one Pamela Barnes where things turned out to be every bit as serious as they’d thought.

But the new distance between him and Dean didn’t become apparent until he woke up the next morning and found out Dean had snuck out to confront the thing that had raised him from Hell. While he’d snuck out to meet Ruby and kill a couple demons. 

The topic of soulmates didn’t come up again after that.

Their lives had always been a bit on the surreal side but that definitely took a turn towards the decidedly insane with the revelation of angels and seals being broken. Sam had always had faith. Faith in God and faith that everything in their lives happened for a reason. It was just harder to think of that as a good thing when angels weren’t everything he’d thought they’d be. Even harder when he came face to face with them.

“You have a strange energy about you,” Castiel - Angel of the Lord and very possibly Dean’s soulmate - informed him. 

“I, uh, wait, what?” Sam asked.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed and Sam had never felt more out of place. “You have a strange energy about you. It’s different from the demon blood but I cannot decide if it’s a good thing or not.”

Then Castiel walked away, leaving Sam to gape at his back. 

The only times he met up with Ruby was for more blood; she didn’t like the idea of sticking around when they had angels watching over them. The sex part of their interactions pretty much stopped entirely. Sam was mostly okay with that, other than the part where it made him a bit touchier than he usually was. 

All of Dean’s comments were taken the wrong way, regardless of whether Dean had meant them that way or not. The snappy reply just blurted itself out before Sam could think about what he was saying. 

Dean stared at him from across the room, his eyes set in quiet anger. Sam couldn’t even remember what either of them had been saying. Without a word, he stood up and grabbed one of the keys to their room. Every possibly horrible thing he could say to Dean was turning around in his mind and he needed to get out, he needed to not be angry for a little while.

“Have fun being that demon’s bitch, Sammy!” Dean shouted as Sam opened the door.

Sam snarled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be thinking about you while we’re braiding each others hair. Maybe after that we’ll have a pillow fight too!”

The door slammed behind him before Dean could respond but it didn’t matter. No one could have missed the crash behind him, whether they were standing right there or were on the other side of the town. A rather average night for the two of them lately. Only it was normally Dean who ended up storming out of the room, generally to find a bar to drink himself silly in.

His feet carried him more than Sam actually knew where he was going. Any direction was fine, so long as it was away from Dean and that suffocating motel room. 

It felt like hours later when he finally stopped at a park, feeling drained and weak. The blood he’d had that morning was only just starting to wear off but he felt as strong as a newborn kitten. Sam sat down on one of the picnic benches. There was no one else in the park other than him and some crickets but he couldn’t stop himself from wishing there was.

Except who could he talk to? Dean was out. Bobby might have listened but at the end of the day, the older man was firmly on Dean’s side when it came to the whole demon blood thing. Everyone else he considered family was dead and gone. Ruby would just tell him to suck it up.

But maybe…

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Trickster? You around, by any chance?”

A snap filled the air and a body filled the spot beside him. “I do have a name, you know.”

“Yeah, well, it’s difficult to call you by your name when I have no idea what it is.”

“You never asked,” the Trickster countered. Then he paused and looked out at the empty park in front of them. “I prefer Gabriel but Gabriel the Greatest and Best Looking works too.”

“Really?”

“Would I ever lie to you, Sammy?”

Sam’s face twisted at the nickname but for some reason, the Trickster - no, Gabriel’s name fit him like a missing piece of a puzzle. He looked beside him and he saw Gabriel. No awkward few moments as he tried to transition from one name to the next, no forcing a name that didn’t quite line up in his head. 

Just like that, Gabriel felt a lot more real than he had at any other time. More substantial than the bravado the first time they met. More understanding than the callousness at the Mystery Spot. More serious than the teasing of the notes. And maybe more prone to forgiveness than Gabriel had been in London.

“No, I don’t think you would,” Sam stated.

Gabriel’s lips twitched but he carried on as if Sam hadn’t said anything at all. “Tell me why you called. Chop chop. I’ve got people to be and places to see, and vice versa.”

“Dean’s a jackass,” was what came falling out of Sam’s mouth.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You called me here to tell me that? Cause I hate to break it to you but…”

“But Dean’s always been a jackass,” Sam agreed with a sigh. “So I shouldn’t be flying off the handle every five minutes just because he’s made an insensitive comment or something. I swear I used to just deal with it by putting itching powder in his pants.”

“Just itching powder?”

“Hair dye was a popular choice as well,” Sam amended.

Gabriel smirked as he leaned back on his hands. “Something neon, I’d hope.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Not all of us have the same affinity towards the bright and the obnoxious.” He paused but the urge to share was too strong. “One time it was this baby pink. It faded out pretty fast but it was more than worth it to see the look on his face.”

“Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

Sam laughed, feeling lighter than he had in months. Years, even. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d laughed like that, carefree instead of short and fake. Probably before Jess had died. Almost definitely before Jess had died. That wasn’t something he felt he could let go of but maybe he could still move forward after all.

His gaze flickered over to Gabriel - _Gabriel_ because Sam knew the Trickster’s name and he still couldn’t quite believe it. The man to match his mark. The difference between how he’d been about to fly off the handle before and how he felt right now was almost amazing. Both of those things helped him have faith again and not just in the way that the world was fated to end.

“You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” Sam pointed out.

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

That was a lie, Sam thought. He didn’t know how or why or even if it was anything more than a baseless thought. What he did know was that it felt right in a way it shouldn’t have. But Gabriel was a Trickster and Tricksters were built of different stuff than him or Dean or Bobby were.

Gabriel glanced at him and their eyes met. “Stop overthinking things, kiddo. If I say I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, then end of story.”

Sam chuckled. “Right, sorry.”

“That you are. Can’t bitch about it either because you were the one who wanted me here in the first place,” Gabriel said flippantly. “Now, tell me more about this jackass of a brother you have.”

So Sam did. Feelings of needing to be strong enough to defeat Lilith, no matter what the cost, of needing to be something more than just Dean’s little brother, of wanting to be trusted for once spilled out. Ruby was next and Sam silently sighed in relief when Gabriel didn’t say anything about him drinking demon blood. 

No matter what Dean said, getting it all out was a lot better than getting drunk and finding some faceless stranger to have sex with. 

Eventually, Sam ran out of things to say and came to a stop. The two of them just sat there in the park, the stars shining around them. The crickets had stopped making noise a while ago and Sam couldn’t quite figure out how long they’d been sitting out there for. It didn’t really matter. Not when it felt like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders.

“Can I call for you again?” Sam asked. “I liked this.”

“You liked my bitchy commentary? You never mentioned you were perfect,” Gabriel protested incredulously. 

Sam chuckled. “You don’t say awesome every five minutes. I’d say that’s an upgrade.”

“You flatter me, Winchester. I like it. Keep my number.”

“Really though, thanks for this,” Sam said.

He looked around. Gabriel was already long gone as if he’d never been there in the first place. Sam would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t been expecting that. 

The anger came back full force on his way back to the motel. Sam could feel it itching at him, making his shoulders tight and his fingers curl into fists for no reason other than that he wanted to punch something. Or preferably, someone. Thoughts about Dean being a dick kept turning around in his mind but he could recognize them a bit better now. He could tell himself he didn’t need to resort to violence, even when every fibre of his body was telling him he should.

But restraining himself from violence wasn’t stopping seals from breaking. They were trying their best but at the end of the day, there were over six hundred seals and only sixty six of them needed to be broken in order to set the Devil loose. Sam wasn’t the only frustrated one. But he was the only one who had a demon who kept disappearing for long periods of time as well.

The demon blood kept on lasting longer and longer, and Sam revelled in the strength it gave him. Two, three, four demons couldn’t stand a chance against him. Only that little bit more before he could defeat Lilith. Killing Alastair was only an example of what he’d be able to do with just a bit more and he’d long since stopped caring that it was taking more and more blood to bring him to the height of his strength. Just being there was enough.

Mixing all that together meant that “evening walks” were the only things keeping him sane. They weren’t every night and almost never right after he’d met with Castiel. That didn’t matter. What mattered was the hours he spent in abandoned parks and sleepy diners, talking to Gabriel.

Their conversations certainly weren’t one sided either.

Waking up in Bobby’s panic room with a horrible headache shouldn’t have come as a surprise but it did and it made him see red. Wrapping his hands around Dean’s neck was only the least of what he wanted to do. 

Why couldn’t Dean see that he was doing this for everyone’s good? 

Sam needed to be strong in order to kill Lilith. The demon blood made him strong. And if Dean was chosen by angels to stop the Apocalypse then it was up to Sam to do what little he could to help. Dean by himself couldn’t stop Lilith back then and he wouldn’t be able to do it now. Not without Sam’s help. Not without the demon blood.

None of this was making Dean let him out of the panic room. And he’d ran out of demon blood almost a week ago with no word from Ruby. Very little was needed in order to push him the rest of the way over the edge.

The fall had never been quite like this either.

Alastair was first as the bed became a platform, his limbs tied down. The demon didn’t hesitate to bury the scalpel into his flesh, iron burning into his skin.

Then it was himself in the midst of the pain. Or not quite himself because he wasn’t fourteen anymore and he wasn’t so obsessed with becoming normal either. The reminder of what he’d given up hurt almost more than the scalpel had.

His mother whispered into his ear, telling him he was doing the right thing. That the demon blood was the best way to go. It drove him further forward.

Dean looked down at him, disgusted. Monster, he called Sam, like in all of Sam’s nightmares.

And then it was Gabriel. 

“You’re a mess,” Gabriel spat out. He was leaning against the wall, so far away, but he looked more serious than Sam had ever seen him. More angry too.

That didn’t stop him from begging. “Gabe, please, I _need-_ ”

“What? What do you _need_? Blood, maybe? Or how about sex or forgiveness?” Gabriel pushed himself off of the wall and stood over Sam, tall and imposing. “You don’t deserve it, Winchester. You don’t even deserve my wings on your back, so you better forget about thinking they mean something.”

The door clicked open.

Sam’s eyes darted towards it.

“Go, run like the coward you are! Watch Lilith laugh at how _pathetic_ you are!”

Sam did. 

Sam did and everything snowballed from there. Fifteen minutes couldn’t have gone by before he was already in one of Bobby’s old cars with Bobby himself left unconscious in the junkyard. He didn’t regret it. He couldn’t let himself regret it.

Hands shaking on the steering wheel, Sam thought about calling for Gabriel. Gabriel who’d listened when he needed it, supported him when he’d needed it. But then there was a flash of Gabriel standing in the panic room - impossible but still right there in his memory - and speaking the truth. He couldn’t do it.

A quick call later and Ruby finally answered. They made a plan and outside of how best to avoid Dean, the only thing Sam could think of was getting to more blood. Becoming strong again.

Ruby gave him a plan. It had never sounded so reasonable than when it was coming out of her mouth.

Find one of Lilith’s cohorts.

Find out where Lilith was.

And then go kill Lilith.

Simple.

Dean finding him hadn’t been part of the plan. Just like how not thinking about Gabriel was part of it. Both of those things happened but only one of them ended up with Dean on the floor after Sam’s restraint finally snapped at that one word. Monster. Dean was right. Things were never going to be the same between them.

The feeling of wrongness set in as Sam listened to the cries of Lilith’s servant’s vessel. This wasn’t how he was supposed to be saving the world but his doubts fled as he listened to Dean’s message, all harsh words and hatred. 

It all blurred together as they made their way to St. Mary’s Convent. Sam had never had this much demon blood before. With that much power at the tips of his fingers, there was a small part of him that silently wondered if he’d really turned himself into a monster, into something he’d hunt. It was the same part of him that thought of Dean and Gabriel and even Jess. The rest of him was too set on killing Lilith to think of much else.

Ruby was quick to get out of the stolen car as soon as they drove up to the convent, making no show of hiding her impatience. But Sam stayed in the passenger seat for a few moments longer, indulging that small part of him.

And he doubted.

“Shit,” he said under his breath. Ruby was scowling at him from outside the car but he needed this more than he needed to listen to her. “Gabriel, I hope you hear this. If things here, well, if they go sideways then could you tell Dean I’m sorry? And just know I don’t think that we don’t work well together. Not anymore.”

Sam climbed out of the car and started towards the convent, not bothering to wait for Ruby. There was nothing left to say.

Demons were at every corner but taking care of them was as simple as a wave of his hand. They didn’t require so much as a second thought. Of course, Lilith was at the centre of it all, waiting for him. She wasn’t surprised, she wasn’t fearful. She was expectant.

The doors slammed closed behind him but the anger already had a hold of him. He was so close. Everything he’d worked towards over the last year was right in front of him, within reach like it had never been before. The only thing left was to kill her. To kill the demon who’d taken Dean away from him and orchestrated more deals than imaginable. Who was spearheading the efforts to throw them into the Apocalypse.

Dean’s voice came from the other side of the door and the small piece of him that doubted reared its head again. This was wrong. Killing Lilith wasn’t worth what he’d done to himself.

“You turned yourself into a freak - a monster. And now you’re not going to bite! I’m sorry but that’s honestly adorable.” Lilith’s laughed echoed in the small chamber, loud and harsh. 

His rage boiled over.

Throwing her across the room was easy, simple, something he could have almost done in his sleep. Yet at the same time, it could every ounce of strength within him. There was a loud crack as her head hit the altar and she fell to the ground.

She had no resistance left to give.

Lilith was dead.

Ruby was talking but Sam could barely take it in. He was too focused on the way Lilith’s blood was moving across the floor in ways it shouldn’t have been. This was supposed to be the end of it all. But instead, he’s just started the Apocalypse instead of ended it and the only person he had left at the end of it was the demon he’d mistakenly trusted.

“Even you have to admit, I’m - I’m _awesome_!” Ruby finished, grin looking almost painful on her face.

The doors slammed open.

Sam turned to look but it wasn’t Dean who charged into the room. Dean couldn’t make the meager light flicker as dark shadows appeared on the wall across from him. Three pairs of wings. The largest on the top and the smallest on the bottom, held together by something more than just bone and sinew. 

“ _Awesome_?” Gabriel mockingly demanded. “You took advantage of Sam’s grief. Whoop-de-fucking-do. The only thing I see here is something I wouldn’t even bother to wipe off my shoe.”

“Gabe-”

“Not now, kiddo, I got a bitch to kill.”

Ruby did nothing more than stand there and stare at Gabriel as he walked towards her in even, measured steps. A blade slipped into his hand, as if it always been there and then was plunged into her chest. There was a spark of orange as the blade was ripped out and her dead vessel fell to the floor.

Sam felt nothing but relief as he saw it. “Gabriel, what’s going on?”

“I said _not now_.”

Gabriel reached out towards him, blade gone. This time there was no snap as Sam disappeared, just the soft sound of a bird’s wings.


	4. Interlude: Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably noticed that this is an interlude and not another chapter. Well, it is a chapter but it focuses in a bit more on what happens directly after the last chapter. It also marks a divergence from canon almost entirely, just as a heads up. Also, the editing process has made this entire fic a tad bit bigger? Ten chapters so far, but there's the chance I might split a later chapter into two as well!

A squeak echoed through the silence of the panic room. The third step, as always. 

Everything hurt. Not a single muscle or bone was free of it but it was worse around his ankles and wrists where the handcuffs had rubbed and grinded as the demon blood running through his veins had attempted to throw him around the room. They'd kept him chained to the bare bed for who knew how long but Sam would have stayed in this bed for another month if his lips weren't rough and cracked anymore.

"Sammy?" Dean called hesitantly from the other side of the door.

His tongue flicked out in a desperate attempt to wet his lips. It didn't help much. The little it did help stopped after a few moments. All he needed were a few drops of blood and-

No. 

Sam's silence must have been more concerning than a reply would have been because the door slip open so Dean could stare at him without metal separating them. Dean looked worried, his lips pinched together. Attempting a smile was the least Sam could do in the face of that look but it turned into a grimace as his lip split from the effort, only making Dean's worry worse. That was generally the way these things went.

"You look like shit," Dean informed him. He shifted awkwardly when Sam didn't respond. "You going to be okay if we let you out of here?"

That was a difficult question. More difficult than Sam was willing to outwardly admit. So, he kept his mouth shut as he thought it through. 

Azazel wasn't standing in the corner, mocking him about his destiny. This Dean didn't look like he was about to start calling him a freak or a monster either. The last time he'd seen his mother sitting on the side of his bed seemed distant and far away. He couldn't even remember if Alistair or Gabriel had been the last person to appear to him, too real to be a hallucination but impossible for it to be anything else. And his mind was clearer than it had been in months.

Except he was still craving demon blood. He needed to find a demon, any demon and feel that rush of power. It was instinct, he knew it was instinct because rationally, he didn't want the blood. Even if yeah, the power would be nice because being able to gank demons with just his mind was a useful ability to have. There were too many consequences.

Sam met Dean's eyes for the first time and nodded. "Just don't keep the demon blood on the kitchen counter."

Dean stared back at him blankly, not even a twitch of a smile. 

Too soon then. 

Sam knew how this went. It would hang over their heads, regardless of what Dean said about having moved past it, until Sam either forced him to talk about it or something changed. Or a lot of things changed. He didn't know how to stop it or if there was really any chance of coming back from something like this. It was as if all the accusations and distrust from the past year had been multiplied by ten.

A key was pulled out of Dean's pocket and he stepped into the panic room with a sigh. Sam kept silent as soft clicks filled the air while Dean unlocked the handcuffs. As soon as he could, he sat up and rubbed at the bruises on his wrists, attempting to soothe the hurting skin.

"I really am sorry, you know," Sam said quietly. "Trusting Ruby - it was stupid. And I should have realized what the blood was doing to me."

"Can it," Dean snapped.

Sam dropped his gaze down to the floor.

"I don't want to hear another damn apology out of that freakish mouth of yours. You already _have_ my forgiveness."

"But-" Sam protested, his head snapping up to gape at Dean.

"Forgiveness, Sam. Don't mean I trust you," Dean finished.

The fight left Sam's body. "Okay, I - I can work with that. It's not like I trust me either, so..."

"So we deal with it. Like always."

"Like always," Sam echoed.

He gripped the edge of the flimsy bed, averting his gaze back down to the spray-painted devil's trap on the floor. The things he'd done shouldn't have even been forgivable. This was a lot more than he'd expected. Dean just snorted and left the room as if Sam should have never expected otherwise. He'd spent who knew how long thinking things between him and Dean couldn't be repaired, it was difficult to think any differently now.

His legs wavered under his weight as he stood up; the consequences of being handcuffed to a bed for days were just as bad as one would expect. That third stair squeaked again and he knew he'd have to do it alone.

It was pathetic how weak he could be.

It took him a few minutes but Sam headed straight for the kitchen, not surprised to see Dean already rummaging through the fridge. A beer was silently held out to him and he shook his head. Dean raised an eyebrow but the beer went back into the fridge without a word. Instead, Sam took out a glass and filled it with water, downing it before he even bothered to turn off the tap.

The cold water soothed his dry mouth and throat better than any beer would have and his glass had been emptied before he knew it. The split in his lip stung from the water but that wasn’t enough to deter him from drinking another another glass. His body didn’t feel quite so weak anymore, not helpless.

So long as he remembered that, he had the feeling things were going to work out just fine.

Getting something to eat was the next thing on the agenda. A couple loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter were the only things that didn’t look questionable at best and a new species at worst, with the exception of the beer. Even if peanut butter had never been his favourite, Sam definitely wasn’t going to turn down a sandwich. Or hesitate in spreading as much peanut butter as possible onto the bread than shoving it into his mouth. 

An amused sound, half-snort and half-chuckle, came from behind him. 

Sam swallowed the mouthful of sandwich and looked up, confused. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean tried to assure him but then his lips curved ever so slightly and Sam knew it was a lie. “Was just wondering if you could fit anymore of that into your mouth.”

Sam let out an annoyed huff. “I’ve seen you eat pieces of pie triple the size of this. In five minutes. Tops.”

“Dude, that’s _pie_.”

“It’s disgusting!”

The scandalized look didn’t manage to wipe itself off Dean’s face as Sam scarfed down the last few bites of his sandwich. Something between them was lighter now than it had been back in the panic room. Sam knew better than to point it out or to make some “sappy” comment about how he’d missed this. So, he rolled his eyes just like he was expected to and stepped into the living room.

Only the living room had been turned into something out of a cheesy detective show. The walls had been cleared of their customary paintings and Sam had to duck his head in order to avoid some of the brightly coloured strings. About half of the room itself was covered in photocopied pieces of text and articles and those were covered in highlighter and hastily scribbled notes. This really wasn’t something someone could put together over the course of a few days, not unless they hadn’t slept at all during that time.

Even the couch had been pushed to the side and the TV must have been relocated to another part of the house. Gabriel, for one, was sprawled out on the couch with a heavy tome floating a foot above his head. 

The angel - and there was nobody more surprised about that than Sam was - didn't look away from his book. Sam might not have even existed for all Gabriel acknowledged him. This was the first time he'd even seen Gabriel since St. Mary's, since imprints of wings on a stone wall, since he'd started Armageddon. 

"That ain't Hattic, old man," Gabriel called out. Then he lifted his head up to meet Sam's eyes, the mischief far more reflective of a Trickster than anything else, and Sam relaxed a bit.

A groan came from the library then the sound of a book being slammed shut. "Ya couldn't have told me that half an hour ago, you feathered freak!"

Bobby, of course.

"You were the one who told me you didn't want my help in the first place," Gabriel mused. A page in his book turned without prompting as Sam awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot. 

"I'd been referring to the - oh, Sam."

Sam looked at his surrogate father and he saw the things he didn't want to see. Bobby unconscious on the gravel ground of the junkyard. The distrust that came with being faced with the monster, yes, the monster he'd turned himself into in the name of what was right. The demon blood wearing Bobby's face once, twice, three times over. 

Bobby's back straightened as he waited. Sam knew what for. Dean had been the only one to come into the panic room, the only one to force feed him food and water. Now it was only a matter of forcing the words from where they'd stuck themselves in the pit of his throat. 

Throwing apologies at Dean was something he was used to. Apologizing for putting himself in danger on a hunt, apologizing for forgetting pie with their dinner. For taking off in the middle of the night to go to Stanford, for letting Dean down again. For Ruby, for the demon blood, for not being there when he should have been. And most recently, for starting the Apocalypse. It wasn't a conversation he'd ever had to have with Bobby before.

"Are you going to say something or are you going to just stand there?" Bobby asked, his jaw set stubbornly.

"I'm sorry," he finally forced out. His jaw trembled and his hands were clenched at his sides but it didn't make the words come any more easily. "I shouldn't have knocked you out. Or left Dean in that hotel room. I was impulsive and didn't think things through."

Bobby stood up, books and research long forgotten as he stepped into the living room. "I ain't your brother, boy, you don't gotta apologize to me for those things. Addictions make us different people, whether it's drugs, alcohol, or demon blood. So as far as I'm concerned, you ain't responsible for any of it." Bobby's gaze moved past Sam to where Gabriel still laid. "Well, except when it comes to him."

"Bobby, I didn't know you cared!" Gabriel all but sung.

Sam grimaced but the knots were loosening in his back and his fists gentled. "That bad?"

"Bad? Try horrible," Dean spoke up from the doorway into the kitchen. "You know who sings Yellow Submarine at four in the morning? Dicks do."

"And what a fine dick it is," Gabriel managed to push in, looking absolutely smug at the annoyed looks on both Dean's and Bobby's faces.

Dean's annoyance turned into a scowl. "Sam, please make him leave."

"For once, I gotta agree with the idjit."

The lightheartedness disappeared as Gabriel's gaze settled on Sam. Dean and Bobby were teasing, Sam knew that. Or at least they weren't really serious about getting Sam to make him leave. They seemed serious about wanting Gabriel to leave, at any rate.

But somehow Sam knew Gabriel would leave if he asked him to. It was in the look in his eyes, some seriousness hidden behind gleeful mischief. If Sam truly didn't Gabriel here - and he shouldn't, not after the lies and those arching wings of shadows and lightning and feathers that stripped away the tricks - then all he had to do was say the word. Just like how he'd said the word back in London and it left them damaged but not without chance of repair. If he chose to push Gabriel away now, there wouldn't be a chance for repair.

Maybe other people would have been angry about the lies but Sam couldn't even muster up the energy for that. He wasn't so naive as to think whatever was between them was built on truth and honesty anyways. Not really.

Sam sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "He's staying."

Gabriel's face relaxed into a smug grin and he held out his hand as Dean started to rummage through his pockets, slapping a five dollar bill into the open hand. Exasperation was the only thing Bobby was showing, like he'd been expecting this the entire time. 

That really wasn't the reaction Sam had been expecting. A bit of shouting on Dean's part, a bit of silent disapproval from Bobby. Instead with the exception of Gabriel, they seemed resigned. This really shouldn't have surprised him so much, he supposed, not when Gabriel was Gabriel and while at the heart of that was an angel, the Trickster had made up every other part of him for what had to be a long time. A bet with Dean was least antagonistic thing he could have done.

Not that Dean seemed to appreciate that, judging by the way he retreated back into the kitchen without another word.

Sam did and he tried to show Gabriel that but the angel wasn't paying attention to the small half-smile he gave. His attention turned away from Gabriel once he realized he wasn't going to be acknowledged any time soon. Then he noticed the look Bobby was giving him, one of trepidation and, unexpectedly, understanding.

The old man snorted and looked away. "Get your ass over here, boy, I got something I want you to take a look at."

"What is it?" Sam asked and he let Bobby lead him into the library without another word.

Ignoring Gabriel's refusal to acknowledge him for more than a couple seconds would be easier when he had something to distract himself with. And that something looked like it would be one hell of a something, given the look on Bobby's face. 

The library had never been so jammed full of books before, with whatever had been in the living room now being in here. Even then, it looked as if Bobby had acquired more than what he'd had the last time Sam had been around. Bobby reached for one on top of the piles beside the desk and laid it out in front of them, the cover closed as he looked meaningfully at Sam. Sam took the hint, turning his attention down to the book.

It looked more like a journal than a book, bound by thick leather. Characters had been burned into the leather itself, not something that could have been done anytime in the past five hundred years. But it looked new. A bit on the worn side, maybe, but not something that had been around for five hundred plus years.

"Is that...?" Sam trailed off and reached over to touch the strange characters. Unlike what he'd been expecting, they didn't dissolve into dust the moment he touched them. 

"An Ancient Mayan text? Yeah, it was... _mysteriously_ put on my desk yesterday morning 'bout the same time your boyfriend showed up, along with a few more like it." Bobby looked over his shoulder at Gabriel, his face clouded. "He claims to have never seen 'em before in his life but I don't know of anything other than an archangel that can jump back in time with such ease."

"Nevermind one willing to-" Sam's head shot up and the book forgotten about as he stared at Bobby. "Uh, did you just say archangel?"

Bobby's eyebrows climbed up his forehead and he stared back at Sam. Then he snorted and turned back to the journal, opening it up to the leathery pages. "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

But the gears were already moving and everything was fitting into place. Gabriel, of course. There was plenty of lore out there on archangels and even if no one source agreed on which angels were the archangels, Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel were always on the list. 

Not only that, but there was a big difference between an angel - even one like Castiel who stared at Dean like the sun shone out of his ass - and an archangel. Sam looked behind him and tried to imagine Gabriel having the sort of power that could wipe out an entire city with a single snap of his fingers. It was a lot easier than it should have been. Probably would have been easy even before St. Mary's, before seeing Ruby cowering in front of him. 

The larger than life personality, the arrogance, the ability to conjure up anything from thin air. Being able to kill Dean over and over and over again, only to bring him back each time. Especially those little displays of power, like those obnoxious notes he’d kept finding everywhere for months, because something like that didn’t just require power but finesse. They were all just another piece of the puzzle. 

Castiel was powerful but he couldn’t measure up to Gabriel. 

“Look at this,” Bobby muttered.

Sam’s mouth flattened into a straight line as he glanced back down at the seal-like squares. They meant absolutely nothing to him. He didn’t know anything about Ancient Mayan, outside of a possible documentary he’d watched on night between hunts. He couldn’t read this any more than he could read Dean’s handwriting. 

Then he saw what he was supposed to be looking for. Between the scribbled squares was another, more familiar script. Loops and curves were mixed with hard, straight lines and to an untrained eye, it would have appeared to be some stylistic choice on the author’s end or maybe just decoration. Luckily, Sam was a trained eye. He’d been teaching himself what little he could over the past year because if they were going to be dealing with angels? Then they had to know as much as they could. 

“Enochian,” Sam breathed out.

“That’s what I thought too,” Bobby confirmed, closing the book again. “You think he can read it?”

Something in the corner of Sam’s sight was suddenly very interesting. “I don’t know. It could be warding to keep angels out but…”

But there was no telling what it said without translating it properly and they both knew it.

Bobby sighed, low and weary. “Well, I should get back to it then. Thought I read something about ‘places of power’ a little while back. Then again, it could just be another account of someone’s goat dying. Take some time, would you? No cracking the books open until tomorrow, at the very least.”

“I don’t think I could read one of those texts right now if I tried,” Sam admitted.

Another book was opened up and Bobby grunted, clearly not taking in a single word Sam had just said. Sam took that as the dismissal it was and turned back to the living room. His eyes settled on the couch for a moment but Gabriel was long gone; something about his conversation with Bobby must have been too much. 

What was more surprising was that Dean wasn’t slumped over the kitchen table with a drink in one hand. Dean walking around, smelling like a distillery wasn’t something he’d managed to miss.

Sam frowned, worried as he peeked out the kitchen window. It was a lot darker out there than he’d expected, especially if the clock on Bobby’s stove was right. Storm clouds hung in the sky, dark and rolling. No light was being let through them, to the point where Sam realized artificial lighting was the only reason he could see anything at all. It might as well have been the middle of the night. Something shifted in the corner of his vision and he glanced towards the front porch. 

There Dean was, his empty beer bottle keeping him company.

It was simple to pull another couple of beers from the fridge and maneuver him through the piles of books to step out onto the porch. The simplest, easiest thing he’d ever done. Dean wordlessly took the cold beer as the peace offering it was and Sam sat down beside him. 

Out here, it was even darker than it had been outside. There was no seeing past the end of Bobby’s driveway and the shadows created by trees and bushes and half-rusted cars were an inky black that almost seemed alive. And maybe they were. It wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing Sam had seen.

“So, where’s Cas?”

The amicable air between broke away to a tense silence. Dean’s shoulders pulled back and he stilled as he stared out at the empty driveway as if he was expecting it to come up and fight him. “Who fucking cares?”

Sam waited, not daring to do anything more than watch Dean from the corner of his eye.

“It’s his own fault,” Dean muttered, his knuckles white against the dark glass of his beer. “What sort of man-angel- _whatever_ throws his life away just so another guy can save his punk-ass brother? Didn’t even end up mattering because I’m there for five minutes and then I get mojo’d away by some freak with a sweet tooth.”

It really wasn't that far of a stretch, given the bits and pieces of Dean's time with the angels he'd picked up over the past few days. Just like he was fairly certain Dean would have done the same had their positions been reversed. A type of self-sacrifice only reserved for family. 

Not that he was about to mention that to Dean, Sam knew better than that. There was too much tension in his shoulders, enough that Dean wasn't just searching for a fight and a fight was exactly what that conversation would escalate into. Sam knew better than to think it was all just because of the handprint burned into Dean's skin. The implications of fate and destiny must have just pushed the two of them further away.

"Is he dead?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Dunno. But he went up against an archangel, not some run of the mill demon." Sam winced, thinking back to his earlier assessment of Castiel's power but Dean kept on going. "There can't be much left of him and I can't even blame it on the Apocalypse." The tip of Dean's bottle was pointed over to the stormy clouds. "Armageddon Lite is awesome, all things considered, but it's hard not to be upset that the guy gave up his life to prevent it."

The crease between Sam's eyebrows deepened with his frown. "It's dark out, yeah, but don't you think you're overshooting a bit by saying it's because of the Apocalypse."

"Yeah, well, South Dakota isn't the only place in the world that's been hit by massive black out. Can't really say it's rainbows and sunshine anywhere anymore."

"Explain."

That was enough to distract Dean from the issue of Castiel, not that there was much to tell. Just this apparent global blackout and a few larger than average earthquakes along the San Andreas fault. The earthquakes might not have even had anything to do with the Apocalypse.

To Sam, it sounded a lot like Lucifer was waiting for something. What? He didn't have the slightest clue. But if things stayed the way they were now, nobody would even know there was supposed to be an apocalypse going on. Meteorologists would be really confused and so would everyone else, but some bullshit explanation would be released and the world would move on, likely sans satellites. Small, radical groups might not believe it but the majority would and that was what mattered.

Except where Earth had been chosen as the battleground for the war between Heaven and Hell, and there was no changing that. Sam could feel something bigger brewing as surely as he could if he were standing beside Lucifer at this very moment.

Knowing that made him restless. Sam was majorly uninformed of what was supposed to happen next, just like everyone else, but he needed to be out there doing something about it. Sure, he'd sit around and research without complaint. Researching was methodical and it usually managed to relax him even at the worst of times. But he needed to be out there helping people like he needed to eat or drink.

Maybe having a normal life was a lot less likely than he'd ever thought and not just because life seemed to keep on throwing them curveballs.

"Sam, hey, you listening to me?" Dean was scowling at him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Sam shifted awkwardly as he snapped back to the present. “Yeah, of course.”

“Uh-huh, so tell me, what did I just say?”

There was a telling silence.

Dean snorted. “Right. How about we save Apocalypse talk until tomorrow then? And in the meantime, you’re going to tell me what’s going on between you and the douchiest angel. Does Broward County just not matter to you anymore? Not to mention how he saved your ass from Lucifer.”

Sam hid his grimace by taking a sip of his mostly-full beer. The gleam in Dean’s eyes was far too knowing for his comfort and Dean knew it too.

“What happened to you not keeping any more secrets then?” Dean calmly asked him. 

“It wasn’t so much of a secret as it was… omitting certain things,” Sam tried to explain, reaching behind him to rub at his shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing against his mark. “When you thought I was taking off to go see Ruby? Not so much.”

Dean’s eyes were glued to Sam’s arm, even as Sam awkwardly put it back down. “Really? That douche bag is your-”

Sam pulled a face. “My _what_ , Dean?”

“Soulmate.”

The look faded away from Sam’s face as he stared blankly at Dean. Somehow Dean had gotten from Step A to Step C without stopping by Step B along the way. It didn’t take long for him to figure out what had given him away and he cursed himself once he did. Dean had always been a master at reading him. 

Having the words spoken out loud was strange, stranger than he’d expected. It had been in the back of his mind for so long that it had never really seemed real. Now it was glaringly obvious, like a neon sign in front of his face that he’d just refused to acknowledge before.

"You only ever touch that thing when you're thinking about it," Dean muttered needlessly. 

"I know. We just never..." 

Dean snorted and stood up. "Don't wanna hear it. We'll be taking out girly magazines and doing each other's hair first."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To find out where Bobby hides the hard stuff!"

Sam hid a grimace as Dean disappeared inside. It was far more telling that Dean was going to raid through Bobby's liquor cabinet instead of going down to the nearest bar than Dean knew, if only because he wasn't going to hook up with someone. 

The remainder of his beer sloshed around in the glass bottle as he stared down at it. It was hard to imagine that either Dean or Bobby would notice if he took off at this very moment. A demon wouldn't be very hard to get a hold of either; just find a crossroads and set up a devil's trap, and he'd be good to go. Dean and Bobby would be none the wiser until he ended up saving their lives over something stupid.

Except it didn't work like that. They would know, just like how he knew when Dean was on a bender or when Bobby felt like they were taking him for granted too much. And when he eventually came down - and he would have to come down - he didn't think he'd be able to survive the withdrawal so easily. 

And above all that, Sam didn’t want to be that dependent on anything again. 

He stayed out there for a long time, long enough that Bobby pulled away from the books and offered to order in a pizza for the three of them. The pizza man came and went, headlights shining in the driveway, and Sam stayed where he was. 

Ruby.

Gabriel.

The Apocalypse.

Dean.

They all kept spinning through his mind as he stared out at the dark skies. How he’d screwed up. How things had almost come crashing down on themselves. How things were better than they could have been. Even after all the time he’d had to think down in the panic room, it was hard to make sense of how everything had changed so quickly around him. 

The kitchen light never went out but eventually it grew too cold to stay out anymore and he stood up, going back into the house with his half-full beer. A quick peek into the kitchen confirmed his suspicions of Dean passed out at the table and he didn’t need anyone to tell him that Bobby was in his library with a book open in front of him and a bottle of whiskey beside him. Instead of doing anything about it, he snuck up the stairs.

A familiar face greeted Sam as he opened the door to the spare room he’d claimed as his own years ago. The smell of fresh pastries wafted towards him and Gabriel looked absolutely gleeful. 

It seemed like getting pastries wasn’t the only thing Gabriel had been doing either. The spare room was bigger. It had to be because the bed wasn’t a double anymore and he could still manage to open the door. Everything else had gone through a revamping as well, from the newly thick carpet under his feet to the large, fluffy pillows on the bed.

“Is this Lets Talk to Sam Day or something?” he muttered, kicking off his shoes beside the door.

“Nah, just wanted to offer you a pastry. Nothing nefarious about that,” Gabriel paused and considered. “Unless you wanted it to be nefarious.”

Sam stopped. “From the usual place?”

“Paris _is_ wonderful this time of day.”

“Show off.”

A danish was offered to him, Gabriel’s glee only growing at the reprimand. Sam took it with a shake of his head and he sat down on the bed beside him, biting into the warm, soft layers of pastry. The sugar melted on his tongue and he savoured the treat for as long as he could manage to not take another bite.

Sam was still eating by the time Gabriel finished, the bag disappearing with only a thought. But Gabriel didn’t disappear with it, contrary to what Sam had expected. His eyes flickered over to the angel - no, the archangel. There was no ignoring him anymore, no pretending he didn’t exist because those amber eyes were focused in on him as if Gabriel expected him to disappear if he so much as blinked. 

The tentative eye contact between them stayed even as Sam crawled underneath the covers, up until he buried his face into his pillow. This was safe, this was comfortable. This was what he’d needed all afternoon, the weight of a person next to him, reminding him of things other than his own guilt. He’d thought he’d have that with Dean, he’d always had that with Dean, he hadn’t.

His feet hung over the edge of the bed. It was just as comforting as Gabriel’s continued presence beside him in that a bed he fit in simply didn’t seem to exist. 

There was a tentative touch to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair and pulling Sam out of the haze that had started to hang over him. He muttered something unintelligible into the pillow. Not a protest but the hand froze regardless. 

It stayed there as Sam relaxed, even growing more confident and less barely there. 

Gabriel said something and Sam hummed in response before he was pulled into sweet, dark sleep.

* * *

It was Jess.

Jess was sitting next to him, their thighs pushed together and her brilliant smile beaming up at him. People and surroundings faded away to nothing, just as they had the first time they’d sat on this park bench together. Their third date and already he’d been desperately in love with her. 

Something was off, he noted as she laughed at something he said. Sam wasn’t that funny and she’d always taken the opportunity to mercilessly tease him when he’d made a bad joke before. But this was _Jess_ , so he couldn’t bring himself to care.

There was nothing Jess could do wrong, not now and not before, though he didn’t think about what before was. She was untouched by his insidious life, by hunting, by the Apocalypse, by everything. She was that last reminder of his attempt at having a normal life, that in a better world, things could have been perfect between them. If only in moments like this and the thick, black mark still clear against his skin.

Here, her voice was just as soft and sweet as it had always been. Sam couldn’t make out the words exactly. Just her lilting laugh. It was more than enough. This park bench was the only thing in existence that mattered, nothing more important than the small circles she drew on his drew on his denim-covered leg with a tip of her finger.

“Sam,” she said, her voice light but questioning.

Sam frowned. No, that wasn’t right either. Jess was never just sweet, never just soft. She was sassy and geeky and she would always be the one to laugh the loudest. He looked at her and she smiled back, calmly.

“Sam.”

“What is it, Jess?” he pleaded.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

Of course, he wanted to say, and she looked pleased even though he hadn’t verbalized the words. She leaned over, lips brushing against his cheek and that was wrong too. At least like this. He didn’t mind though. Then she pulled away and her entire being flickered in and out of existence and she wasn’t Jess anymore.

A man sat where Jess once had, their thighs still pressed together and his lips still curved into that pleased little smile. He was tall, likely only falling short of Sam’s height by an inch or two. Blond and fair-skinned with eyes reminiscent of clear ice. The man reached over and brushed his fingers against Sam’s cheek, the touch barely there. There was nothing about him that Sam recognized. Except there was. A feeling, perhaps, but more an attraction sitting just underneath his skin.

“Lucifer.”

Pride and satisfaction was an odd look on the Devil but neither of them moved away.

“Why are you here?” Sam asked.

Lucifer flickered again and then Sam was met with the same warm, brown eyes he saw in the mirror every day. “Should I not be here? It would be more surprising if I wasn’t, I believe.”

Sam didn’t manage to hide his grimace before Lucifer caught sight of it.

“This form bothers you. Why?”

“Because it’s like looking into a mirror. Except on the other side is, uh, you.”

“Strange. This should be the form you should be most comfortable with, given that it’s the true form I shall take.” Lucifer sighed, sounding worn and weary. “Perhaps it is because nothing has gone according to plan. Regardless, I only wish to please you, Samuel.”

The implications of that seemed distant and far away. He dismissed it as a hand caressed his cheek, its image changing with yet another flicker. A woman once more. Dark where Jess had been fair and just as beautiful. The hand trailed down his cheek, lingering on his skin as if Lucifer could not manage them being apart for more than a moment or two. It came to a stop on his shoulder, slipping underneath his cotton shirt.

Her face grew troubled, and then her fingers twitched and Sam knew. Gabriel. Gabriel whose wings had been etched into his skin since the day he’d been born. Gabriel who was his and vice versa in a way Lucifer seemingly had not expected.

“I will have to leave you in a moment, Samuel, but first I want to tell you a secret. I loved Michael just as much as you love Dean and so, just before he cast me from Heaven, I begged him to reconsider. For that, he cursed me to never see light again, even the abysmal shadow of it you have here,” Lucifer confessed to him. 

“That…”

“Was unnecessary,” the Devil agreed. “And now, I must leave you. But don’t worry in my absence, I will be back.”

\--

Sam kept his eyes squeezed shut as he groaned and rolled over in the bed. Each moment of that dream was burned into his mind. Lucifer as Jess, sweet and tempting. Lucifer managed to pull off sweet and tempting regardless of what image he took on. The hint of something to come, the haunted look Lucifer wore as he recounted those last few moments with Michael. 

It was hard to remember Lucifer wasn’t still sitting beside him, offering comfort and contact where he wanted them the least. 

Or maybe it had been the other way around. 

Regardless, Sam doubted he would have woken up at all if it weren’t for Gabriel. If it weren’t for the mark on his back. 

Gabriel who'd still been in the bed with him when he'd fallen asleep the night before and was very much not here now. That was normal, he reminded himself. It was perfectly normal to wake up alone, especially when he'd been doing so for years. There'd been nothing to suggest otherwise either. Maybe it was the lingering feeling that Gabriel had been there with him towards the end of the dream that had made him think he'd still be here. 

Something drove him then to crawl out of bed and look through the curtains. The sky was still an inky black, filled with more clouds than a summer storm. Being cursed to live in darkness by a brother was almost something he could pity Lucifer for. But pity was a dangerous thing, far more dangerous than anything else he might feel.

It was the smell of bacon that lured him out of the spare room and he put Lucifer and those troubling words to the back of his mind. Dean didn't need to know Lucifer was intending to use him as a meat suit, not with everything else going on.

Dean didn't need to know the Devil was talking to him in his dreams either.

Bobby glanced at Sam as he stepped into the kitchen, snorting to himself before he turned back to the frying pan.

"What?" he asked blearily as he sat down, slouching over the kitchen table.

"Take a look at yourself and maybe you'll figure it out."

Sam glanced down and huffed out a laugh. Considering he'd fallen asleep in jeans, it was a bit of a surprise to find they'd been replaced by pajama bottoms at some point during the night. And given the pattern, it hadn't been Dean or Bobby who had anything to do with it.

A snap echoed through the kitchen and Gabriel grinned at him from across the table. Something eased within Sam as Gabriel didn't look away this time or pretend he wasn't there. He wanted to know what had caused the archangel to act that way in the first place but for the time being, he was more than content just to accept it.

"I take it you're a fan of Betty Boop," he commented idly.

Gabriel's grin took on a mischievous tone. "The classics, Sasquatch, you gotta love them."

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically despite the hint of a smile on his face. “So, where’s Dean? This is late for him.”

“Still passed out on the couch, most likely,” Bobby replied as he placed two plates on the table, one with pancakes and one with bacon. “Broke into my scotch at any rate, the nice stuff too. It’s lucky he didn’t give himself alcohol poisoning.”

Sam frowned down at the table as he piled a couple of pancakes onto his empty plate. Fresh fruit appeared on top of his pancakes just as he was reaching for the maple syrup. His gaze flickered over to Gabriel suspiciously but the archangel was reaching for a piece of bacon, acting as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t difficult to put together just what Dean was having trouble with. Sitting around here probably wasn’t helping either. Dean had never done well with being in one place for longer than the few days it took to finish up a hunt. 

Sam hadn’t been doing well with being in one place for too long over the past few years either.

Add Castiel’s disappearance to Sam’s own idiocy and whatever both him and Bobby had been forced to listen to while he was down in the panic room, and what came out seemed to be an alcoholic Dean. Sam wasn’t even sure what to do about it. A part of him was tempted to join in on the drinking and pretend he’d never started the Apocalypse. Not that he would. Not that either of them would, not really. Saving people always came first to everything else they were going through.

“Did you find anything more last night?” Sam asked, pushing away his now-empty plate.

“Of course not,” Bobby grunted as he watched Gabriel from the corner of his eye. “One doesn’t exactly pick up Ancient Mayan overnight. From what I can tell, one barely picks up Ancient Mayan after twenty years.”

“Did anyone else hear that?” Gabriel suddenly asked. “That was definitely my name. Gotta go, boys!”

Bobby’s suspicious look turned to Sam and he shrugged. Dishes were put away into the sink and they both went their separate ways. Bobby in the library with most of the books Gabriel had dropped off and Sam in the living room combing through a battered copy of Revelations and the rest of the books. 

The next few days went by in the same way. Sam and Bobby worked their way through various books and tomes while Dean drank himself stupid. They’d order something in for dinner, Dean would retreat to some corner of the house. Sam and Bobby would exchange a suffering look before spending the rest of the evening transcribing more things and finding less things. Every once in a while, Gabriel would pop up for a few minutes or an hour but he looked just as distracted as everyone else did.

The only upside was that Sam hadn’t had any more nighttime visitors. No whispers of vessels or too soft touches. Just a brief comment from Gabriel about how Lucifer was now roaming the earth in earnest, covered up by so much humor Sam hadn’t been able to pick apart the meaning until after the fact.

Well, that and the Big Book of Enochian that had appeared in on the floor beside him the day before.

It took four days for anything to change. No phone calls, no contact outside of the delivery man, no nothing. And then there was a phone call. 

Sam paused, a yellow string in one hand as the ringing echoed through the house. It took him a moment to remember what it was and by that time Bobby was already shuffling into the kitchen to answer it. The ringing was quickly replaced by quiet muttering and Sam tried to focus back on what he’d been doing - there was a minor outbreak of some obscure disease in South Africa that could be Pestilence. 

Remembering just what had made him think that was difficult, half his mind focused on what was going on in the kitchen. He tried not to look like he was paying attention as Bobby walked back into the living room but the old man saw through him with a single look.

“You boys are getting out of here.”

Dean looked up from the couch as he blinked sleep away from his eyes. “What’re you talking about?”

“I hate to agree with Dean but yeah, what are you talking about? I thought we were on the verge of finding something,” Sam asked.

“We aren’t on the verge of anything, boy. I’m on the verge of something. And I’ll continue to be on the verge of something whether you’re here or not.” Bobby stopped briefly, his eyebrows furrowing as he turned something over in his mind. “And there’s a town a few states south of here with tonnes of demon activity. As in every first born under the age of eighteen is possessed.”

The string Sam had been putting up was easily forgotten. “Yeah, that sounds like our sort of thing.”

“No shit that’s our sort of thing,” Dean snapped.

They exchanged a look. One that sealed the deal more than any sort of words would have. Any bleariness Dean had felt before was seemingly gone as he hauled himself off the couch to presumably pack his things. That was a sentiment Sam could get on board with. 

Bobby rolled his eyes as Sam followed Dean up the stairs but he seemed just as satisfied as Sam and Dean were that they were taking off. Getting their thing together barely took five minutes with the way they were moving. It likely helped that most of their stuff was already packed away, ready for them to leave at a moment’s notice. The same way they’d lived for the entirety of their lives.

And this was the moment they’d been waiting for ever since Sam had gotten out of the panic room, regardless of the research that needed to be done. There was something for them to do. 

A hunt.

Bobby was waiting for them down in the kitchen, a cardboard box sitting on the table. They got there within seconds of each other, backpacks thrown over their shoulders and restless energy surrounding them. Bobby raised his eyebrows at the both of them but underneath all that was amusement all the same. If Sam didn’t know any better, he would have thought Bobby would have preferred to be going with them instead of figuring out the whole Apocalypse thing.

“You boys take care of yourself, you hear me? Don’t go throwing your lives away just cause you might make something better for someone,” Bobby grumbled, his arms crossed.

Dean barked out a laugh. “No guarantees on that one, old man.”

There was nothing except weariness in Bobby’s sigh. “Expected that one. Well, let’s get you loaded up and you can go on your way.”

“Loaded up?” Sam asked, hesitant.

“You know me. Paranoid old bastard might as well be my name. Just keep this in the back of that car of yours, I don’t have time to make a run to make a run to my usual place.”

“Sure, awesome, we can keep a box of junk in the back of the Impala. Thanks for asking,” Dean snarked.

“Shut it, boy.”

Bobby rolled his eyes at them and stepped forward, reaching for the box without another word. It was more of a dismissal than anything else was and Sam and Dean gave each other an amused looked before they followed him outside. The Impala was waiting for them, just like she always was.

They joked as they put their stuff away, sarcasm and inappropriate comments melting into a sense of normalcy despite the constant dark skies above them. The trunk of the Impala shut easily just as a snap rang through the air.

It was the only warning Sam had before a hand slapped onto his chest, Gabriel appearing right before his eyes. He opened his mouth to question the all-too smug grin on the archangel’s face but then there was a burst of power ricocheting, sending agony down through the very molecules of his body. The pain didn’t end when Gabriel pulled his hand away, instead focusing in on his ribs and intensifying.

Then it was gone, just as Dean was reaching for him with a furious scowl on his face. Sam waved him off as he clutched as his aching ribs. So long as Gabriel didn’t do that again, he’d be fine. He just needed a minute. Or ten. 

“What the hell did you just do to him?” Dean snapped. 

Gabriel grinned. “Just a little parting gift. Don’t worry, it’s a family package, Dean-o!”

“What?” Dean spat out, his hand roughly reaching out to grip Sam’s shoulder. “No, fuck you very much! Sam, I told you we shouldn’t trust him.”

“You sure about that? Cause that little bit of pain comes with a whole lot of protection - particularly from angels. Things can’t get much better than that.”

The pain faded to a dull ache and Sam pulled his shoulder away from Dean, rubbing at the sore muscles there. Dean was definitely pouting, something Sam recognized as his _I’m not going to admit it but that does sound helpful_ look and Gabriel’s grin grew wider at the sight of it.

“Then why did you wait so long?” Dean questioned, his eyes narrowing. 

A flicker of thunder passed over Gabriel’s face then the mask of amusement settled back in. “Well, I had been hoping the little bro would show up before you two decided to fly the coop but as he’s still off licking his wounds, I figured I should go ahead and do it.”

The implications of that hit all of them at once but it hit Dean most of all. He took an unsteady step backwards, panic clear on his face. His hand ghosted over his shoulder where the mark-turned-scar was still as clear as ever. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going through his mind. The hours spent sitting around drinking instead of looking for him, the hesitance that came with the odd way marks reacted with scars, all of it. 

All while Castiel was alive somewhere, wounded and alone.

The moment of weakness was quickly taken advantage of as Gabriel’s hand shot forward onto Dean’s chest. Sam let himself wince in sympathy but it didn’t last more than a couple seconds before Gabriel drew back again. Dean was still recovering when Gabriel turned towards Bobby and waggled his fingers with a grin. 

Within moments, both of them were standing there in pain just like Sam was. Bobby took that as the time to mutter a quick goodbye before retreating back into the house without any more fanfare. 

“C’mon, Sammy, let’s get on the road,” Dean called over as he climbed into the front seat of the Impala, wincing slightly.

Sam rolled his eyes and stayed where he was, eyes focused on where Gabriel still stood.

“Don’t worry about your protection detail, Sasquatch. It’ll keep you safe. Well, as safe as a Winchester can be,” Gabriel said. “And it has the added benefit of hiding you from angels.”

“But doesn’t that mean you won’t be able to-” Sam cut himself off as Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. “Nevermind. Is Cas really still alive?”

“Course. He managed to defy Heaven. He’s tough enough to withstand Raphael. Mostly. It helps that Raphy got a bit distracted with other things, like me at that convent.”

Sam huffed and then he stepped forward to place a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, leaning down slightly. “Thanks, Gabriel, he needed that.”

“I didn’t do it because of him, kiddo.”

Gabriel disappeared again and Sam climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala. Neither him or Dean mentioned the window being cracked open just enough for someone to say, overhear a conversation, and the music was turned on as they took off down the road again.


	5. Two-Way Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... really took far too long to come out. I promise with everything I have that I haven't abandoned this or Overturn. There's obviously no proper excuses but nothing was coming out the way I wanted it to. That being said, I'm actually really happy with the way this turned out. Oh, and the rest of this fic has been written now. It just needs to be revised. Majorly revised.

Every first born under the age of eighteen wasn’t an exaggeration. They thought it might have been when they first rolled through the town and everything had seemed normal but that had only lasted until they ran into someone. An adult, their eyes wide and frightened as Sam and Dean asked them a couple questions.

In true Winchester fashion, things had gone to shit soon after that. 

The demons weren’t happy to have their new-found territory taken from them, not when their new meat-suits were so nice and corruptible, and the parents weren’t happy to see either Sam or Dean take a hunting knife to their children, no matter how necessary. Exorcisms were the preferred route but it wasn’t always practical. Recordings would get smashed, either one of them could be choked to death, and any demon stronger than your average foot soldier was resistant to it to varying effects. That hadn’t been the nicest of revelations.

And naturally, to make things worse, Sam could feel the addiction waiting underneath his skin at every moment of every day. Every fight they got into tore at his resistance like a knife through butter. The only thing really stopping him was Dean attempting to keep a five foot radius between Sam and any demon they came across, as if that would make even the slightest difference. 

They hadn’t even made it two days before they were getting calls from Ellen and Bobby and whoever else knew to call, telling them of other towns all over the country that were suffering similar fates. Jo told them on the down low that she was setting up some sort of online community for survivors and everyone else to make it through the upcoming months. 

There weren’t enough hunters out there to deal with the sudden increase in demons. It was almost a hundred times worse than when they’d opened the Devil’s Gate. 

And no one could follow omens when they were everywhere. 

It wasn’t another week before Sam stood beside a broken man as he stared at his daughter’s corpse. She’d been the last one, smiling gleefully as she recounted how Dean had inspired her to take up the knife so long ago. There was still a hole in her throat where Ruby’s knife had landed. Sam couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Are they… are they really gone?” the man asked. 

Sam hesitated, even though the man wasn’t really looking for an honest answer. There was nothing to suggest the demons would come back to this place. But there hadn’t been a reason for them to be there in the first place.

“No.”

The man’s eyes darkened but he didn’t look surprised. “Then what they said…”

“It was true.”

“Even-”

“All of it.”

Or at least more than Sam had wanted. And maybe if it had been more than his own stupidity that had led him to this point, then he wouldn’t feel like this. Like he was personally responsible for each of the bodies on street around them. For the families and the town that had just lost an entire generation. 

It was all his fault. 

If he’d stopped, at any time, and taken a good look at what the blood was doing to him, at what _Ruby_ was doing to him then Lucifer would still be in his box. Lilith might still be alive but Lilith was manageable. Lilith wasn’t a third or more of the population possessed.

The man licked his lips though his eyes never left the girl. “Could you teach me?”

“Teach you what?” Sam asked, momentarily drawn away from his own guilt. 

“How to get rid of them. Trap them, maybe. We were lucky this time and-” 

The man cut himself off but Sam didn’t need the words to understand what he was saying. Luck was something everyone was a bit low on these days. 

“Yeah, I can do that. Dean will help. Not today though, tomorrow. Tonight, we…,” Sam trailed off as he looked at the corpses and the blood that had turned the street into a river. He found he didn’t need to finished that sentence for the man to understand. 

That night was spent in due diligent mourning. Bottles of wine and whiskey and anything else they could find were opened and shared like the stories of toddlers taking their first steps or of siblings fighting and making up and then repeating the process over again. The ones they’d managed to save, no more than fifteen of them total, kept to themselves, the look in their eyes ten shades darker than it should have been. Yet all of them found their way to the town hall and someone raided the local supermarket for candles. 

A girl no older than fourteen was the first to set down a candle in the street, her shoulders tense and her gaze daring anyone to question her. They didn’t. It was her older sister, newly twenty years old, who continued it. A thick, red candle placed next to a skinny white one then a tea light next to that and a green, pine-smelling one after that. By the time the night was out, candles lined each side of the street, continuing on until they ran out of candles. Years later, it would become known as the Road of Wax and no questions would be asked when a lit candle was set upon the mounds of melted wax that would become permanent fixtures there. 

The next morning brought more people than Sam had thought possible. The man whose daughter’s body had burned with the rest of them, the fourteen year old with her dark, haunted gaze, a young woman who’d been forced to watch her brother kill the rest of her family, and they were just a few among many. This wasn’t the panicked hysteria him and Dean had always predicted. He didn’t know what this was. 

They could have spent days there, teaching them everything they knew about demons. But they didn’t have days. They didn’t even have an entire day before Bobby phoned them up with a whisper of a lead that led them from Kansas to Oklahoma.

Then Missouri. 

Illinois.

Kentucky.

Virginia.

A month went by before they even thought twice of it, chasing after tragedies and rumour that the Devil himself was taking a cross-country tour. Sometimes the towns they were guided to were perfectly unharmed, just a few psychics who’d felt the energy and refused to speak anything more of it. Other times, they weren’t so lucky. Those were the times when a survivor was tragic instead of fortunate, when they’d leave behind flames where there’d once been a town. 

Those were the times where Sam’s dry heaves would turn to sobs and the images left behind would keep him up for days, running on little more than energy drinks and protein bars. Where Dean would barely say more than a couple of words to him at a time. Where ending it was the only thing constantly running through his mind.

That was the way Armageddon worked. 

It was after one of those times that they rolled into a motel parking lot and the young woman at the front desk had taken one glance at them before sliding two keys across the counter. There was no talk of payment, no ‘have a nice visit’. A TV played the news; New York City was being evacuated and it was anyone’s guess if flooding was the real reason behind it.

Sam knew the moment he laid down on the lumpy mattress that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. He wasn’t like Dean. He couldn’t package it all away to deal with another time. Instead, every time he closed his eyes, he could see flames licking the sides of an indistinguishable town hall. Countless bodies piled up where the fires would reach them sooner rather than later. The news wasn’t reporting the destruction of these towns.

Those were the thoughts that followed him to bathroom, his shirt left abandoned on the floor. It was cold and his neck protested as Sam twisted his head to look at the reminder that he wasn’t alone. His mark hadn’t changed. Of course it hadn’t changed. But he stared at it all the same, unable to shake the feeling that it would, like the demon blood had twisted his body on a chemical level.

“Gabriel.”

A snap marked Gabriel’s arrival only seconds after the name unwillingly left Sam’s lips. His head turned and Sam saw Gabriel’s smirk fade into something indescribable as the archangel caught sight of what was reflected in the mirror. Words caught in Sam’s throat. There were only two people who’d ever seen the wings like this and one of them was dead.

“They’re mine,” Gabriel forced out. “They’re my _wings_.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Sam muttered.

“That was before, Sasquatch.”

And for once, Sam didn’t think he was mistaking the tone of wonder in Gabriel’s voice or that Gabriel couldn’t tear his eyes from the mirror. The mark - his mark - was just as perfect and wonderful to him now as it had been when he was five years old and innocent to most everything.

He wasn’t quite sure how he would have gotten through the past year without it.

“But why now?” he asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “It’s been years since we found out and we haven’t done anything. You’ve been gone for a month, Cas is dead, the world’s _ending_. What makes this a good time?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble but there’s never going to be a good time.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not good enough.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrow, unimpressed, and Sam felt the need to explain almost burst out of his skin, the compulsion to apologize following soon after it. But he’d apologized so many times since he left Bobby’s house and before that he resisted it. He’d taken so many wrong turns that he didn’t know how he’d ever make up for it but there was a limit to what he could take responsibility for and if it hadn’t been for Dean continuously pushing him forward, Sam would have reached it weeks ago. 

So he didn’t apologize, even when it seemed like Gabriel was going to disappear again, taking off to whatever corner of the world seemed most pleasing at the moment. 

“I really like you,” was what came out instead. 

“That one’s kinda implied. Goes along with the whole soulmark thing.”

“It’s not because of that. I like your cheesy jokes and that you pretend like you don’t care when you really do. I like your ridiculous sweet tooth, that sometimes I look at you and see the weight of the world on your shoulders, that you want to drag me to every festival and carnival we come across, that sometimes silence is okay but you’d rather fill it up with talk about anything, _everything_. I like you, Gabriel, and it’s not because of some mark that says we’re supposed to be together. So tell me, why now?”

Gabriel shrugged, his face was unreadable. “There’s only so much time left before we make it or break it, kid.”

That should have been enough. Sam wanted it to be. But Sam wanted a lot of things and this wasn’t where he was going to start getting his way. All the time or lackthereof in the world wasn’t going to make him any less eager to jump into things with Gabriel when Gabriel wouldn’t admit it mattered. 

(And, a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, it didn’t matter. Why would Gabriel want someone who had caused the death of nearly a thousand people and rising? The only reason he’d shown up here in the first place was to keep Sam from straying off the path of redemption. It couldn’t be coincidence that Gabriel showed his face for the first time in a month right when Sam started considering other options.)

“Please leave.”

Gabriel was gone before Sam even finished the request, leaving him more drained and exhausted than he’d been before. The emptiness pressed in on him from every side as he tugged his shirt back on and crawled into the motel bed. 

It didn’t matter that all he wanted was to be in the same room as someone else. Or that he could hear the soft sounds of a TV from the next room over. Dean didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want the reminder of how much of a fuck-up his little brother was. Not when Cas was dead because of him. Not when all of this was his fault. It wasn’t just his conscience speaking either. Dean had told him as much when Sam had tried to talk about it a few days and those were words that would be forever burned into his mind.

So he pulled the covers up over his head and ignored the scent of piss masked by laundry detergent. His eyes eventually grew heavy but something brought him back from the edge of sleep every time. 

Morning was a long way off yet.

* * *

A comforting heat surrounded him, pushing in just enough from every angle. There was nothing specific about it. Just comfort and heat and that little bit of joy he’d felt during Gabriel’s nightly vists, whenever he thought about Jess’s smile, and the good things in his life. It was there like it had just been hiding for a little while and he never wanted to let it go again. 

His eyes didn’t need to crack open to recognize the light around him but they did anyways and he watched as it wavered and steadied until it took on a form Sam could make sense of. 

Gabriel. 

Of course, his mind reasoned, it was always Gabriel these days. 

“Sam.”

Yes?

But he didn’t think he really moved his lips. That was fine. He didn’t think he needed to move his lips to speak, not in this place of warmth and comfort and joy and light. If it was really that perfect here than he wouldn’t have to verbalize his words in order to make sense of them. The voice didn’t seem to agree.

“Sam.”

“Gabriel,” he answered, even though his tongue felt so heavy.

“You’d have to be insane to think you could really go against Dad’s plan.”

Dad’s Plan? 

It sounded big and important, even with as familiarly it had been mentioned. Doubt crept in alongside this important thing. Had he done something wrong? He thought maybe he had, even if he couldn’t remember how or why or what. It only made sense that the warmth would fade to tell him so. Even now, he could feel it recoil away from him and then he knew that whatever he’d done must have been truly horrible. 

“No,” it tried again, frustrated. “I’m trying to say it’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not.”

That wasn’t Gabriel’s voice.

The warmth that Gabriel had brought with him retreated entirely, leaving him to the shock of cold. Cold that gnawed on his bones and tore at his muscles. It only promised safety in death. But then Gabriel’s warmth and light came back, distant but somehow shielding him from the worst of the damage. 

“I’d wondered what your little light show was about, brother. Michael’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

Gabriel tensed and in this place, Sam resisted the urge to comfort him. “You’re a bit behind on the times, aren’t you? Guess that’s what happens when you get locked away like that. Otherwise, you’d know Mikey is just as eager for this thing as you are.”

“Is he?”

“If he had his way, this whole thing would have happened ago. Paradise this, Apocalypse that. Gets a bit repetitive after a while.”

“That doesn’t explain why you acted against me, brother,” Lucifer pushed, low and vicious. “Does our Father’s word mean so little to you now? I was supposed to take this one as my vessel, just as Michael was to take his brother.”

The warmth that made up Gabriel pulsed and Sam recoiled at the rush of anger that followed. Did Gabriel really feel that strongly about Lucifer taking him as a vessel? He knew the answer almost as soon as he’d thought the question and some of the anger turned to surprise at the warm flutter that came from Sam. If only it were this easy all the time. Then Sam wouldn’t have to take any shots in the dark or doubt his own feelings or Gabriel’s feelings. It would be simple. 

“And I said no,” Gabriel said.

“So you did,” Lucifer replied. “But it’s not your consent that matters, brother.”

“No.”

It took Sam a moment then two to realize he’d spoken, the word pushing out of him with such ease compared to all else. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Sammy. If you agreed to be my vessel, then I will give you everything you ever wanted. Gabriel could join us and that other one - Jessica - well, she would no longer be damned to such an unforgiving existence. It’s such a shame that one as innocent as she is damned to such an existence.”

“Jess?” Sam choked out, his throat closing up as everything started to spiral. 

Gabriel got further and further away from him, the closeness they’d shared for what felt like minutes at most disappearing. And as he did, Sam got colder and colder. He couldn’t see anything as his eyes refused to close but that didn’t seem to matter. Not when he could almost feel Lucifer’s triumphant smirk. But how could he do anything other than give in? Jess was in Hell. Pretty, innocent Jess whose smile made him feel as if he were on top of the world. 

It was bad enough that Dean had gone to Hell for him, that the only reason Dean was back was because Castiel had had orders to bring him back. That Jess was untouched by all this had been his only saving grace and now-

But why would she be in Hell?

Dean had only gone there because of the deal, because of the way things had been orchestrated by Azazel and Meg and Ruby and every other demon they’d ever come across. Jess had never known about the supernatural, had never been given any reason to suspect. There was no reason she would have made a deal. 

“Oh, and if that isn’t enough incentive for you, there’s always Brady. Poor, little pre-med student. Didn’t even know being friends with you could have such… demonic consequences,” Lucifer goaded.

No. 

No. No. No.

He couldn’t listen. Lucifer was lying to him. Of course Lucifer was lying to him. He was the Devil, Satan, the embodiment of evil. But listening was the only thing he could do here, where every word rang true. It didn’t matter that his surroundings had twisted and turned into a prison of ice, his worst fears keeping him where his breath turned to mist and metal manacles burned his wrists.

A pulse of warmth, quick and faint, brought his attention elsewhere. His eyes squeezed shut. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t what he needed to focus on. 

Sam needed to stop the Apocalypse.

“No.”

And then the rage was back but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t hurt him. Not when he could just open his eyes and _wake up_.

* * *

Sam could recognize the smell of the Impala - grease, fast food, and something uniquely home - before he even opened his eyes. His heart was drumming away in his chest as the dream came back to him in vivid recollection. It really shouldn’t be such a surprise that Lucifer was trying this again.

“Bad dream?” Dean asked over the sound of Zeppelin.

He tried not to feel disappointed that Dean didn’t so much as glance away from the road. Things hadn’t exactly gotten any easier between them over the last month. Sam had learned not to push his luck.

“Not quite.”

Dean bobbed his head. “Lucifer?”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips and looked out the window. “I think Gabriel was there for a while though.”

“Shitty. Michael’s a Grade-A asshole but having those two taking a stroll through your dreams just sounds painful.”

It hadn’t been. At least not at first, Sam recalled, a knot forming in his stomach that made it impossible to look away from the window. If it had just been Gabriel than he would have stayed like that forever. But it hadn’t been and he wasn’t going to. Things just weren’t that easy. They never had been and they never would be. 

“Yeah.”

The silence turned awkward but Sam was too tired to care. Exhaustion had been sitting on his shoulders all week now and he’d hardly managed to catch an hour or two of sleep here and there. 

If it had just been that then Sam could have dealt with it. Drink a beer or two more than usual or even take a couple of sleeping pills and he’d be out for the whole night. But that wasn’t the entire problem. Lucifer might have just said something for the first time but he’d been poking around Sam’s dreams ever since he’d had that talk with Gabriel. And when he wasn’t having his dreams ransacked by the Devil, Dean was tossing and turning in his own bed. 

One of the phones in the glove compartment chose that moment to start ringing and Sam quickly fished it out, ignoring the side look he got from Dean. It wasn’t their main number of the week but that didn’t make much of a difference. Bobby and the rest of them were just as bad at keeping up to date with their numbers as they were at keeping in contact.

“Hello?”

There was a pause on the other line. _“Hey, Sam. It’s, uh, it’s Chuck.”_

“Hey Chuck,” he said purposely and shifted as he ignored the hard look Dean gave him. 

_“You’re probably wondering why I phoned,”_ Chuck paused before he rushed to fill the momentary silence. _“I mean, I know you’re wondering why I phoned. Which, trust me, isn’t just weird for you. I really don’t think I’m going to get used to this whole, uh, prophet business.”_

“You’re not the only one,” Sam muttered. 

_“Right. I, um, also knew that. But right.”_

“Chuck, could you get to the point? We’re in the middle of things right now.”

_“No, you’re not. Sorry. I just kinda wrote out this entire conversation this morning and so, I know you guys are a bit, well, directionless? For the moment, anyways, but first I gotta tell you this.”_

“And what is it?”

_“Important. Well, more important to Dean than you but Dean’s driving and honestly, he’s scarier when he’s angry than you are and you know, despite everything, I really do like being alive.”_

Sam sighed and avoided Dean’s questioning gaze. “Yeah, I get that.”

_“Great! I’m really, really glad to hear that. Mostly because I’ve had, ah, almost six feet - I think it’s six feet but he always looks so short next to you guys - of awkward angel here and he really doesn’t get things. At all. Sam, I had to teach him how to button up a shirt.”_

He paled. There was only one angel Chuck could be talking about, only one angel Dean would have gotten angry about. The Impala pulled to the side of the road as Sam hunched his shoulders. He didn’t need to see Dean to know the look he was getting, even if his brother couldn’t hear Chuck’s side of the conversation. 

“How long?”

Chuck paused awkwardly. _“...Three weeks?”_

“And you didn’t think to phone us before now?” Sam hissed into the phone.

_“Well, you see, the timing, it wasn’t right. You needed to see the damage, uh, Lucifer could do or something like that. And Castiel, well, he was really, really insistent that you guys weren’t told. He doesn’t actually know I’m phoning you right now but that’s only because he wanted to try taking a shower, um, alone for the first time. That sounds a lot worse than I meant it to. Why do I-”_

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Sam interrupted.

_“I know.”_

Sam hung up the phone before Chuck had the chance to say anything else, putting it back into the glove compartment. After a moment, he finally worked up the courage to look over at Dean. His brother’s jaw was set stubbornly as he waited for some sort of explanation.

“It’s Castiel.”

* * *

It took them the better part of four days to get from Virginia to Idaho, nothing but the repetitive view of the I-80 to keep them company. The only stops they made were the absolutely necessary ones, things like food and bathroom put on the backburner for the time being. Neither of them spoke, caught up in their own thoughts of how and where and why, and Dean didn’t even make the effort to put _Zeppelin Two_ into the cassette player.

Jo was the first to phone and she told Sam of whispers of the Devil coming from Georgia, that Lucifer was making a bigger stink of things than he normally was. Sam hummed and hawed and didn’t mention their change in direction. 

Bobby was next and he got Dean. The entire conversation hadn’t been more than five minutes, made especially difficult by Dean’s one word answers. 

Rufus had started his call with “I don’t care what’s your asses but if you don’t come check this out then I’m going to come bury you myself.” That was the same point it had ended on as well. They kept on pushing forward. 

Then eventually they pulled into Chuck’s driveway, phones turned off before someone else tried to get a hold of them. The house looked to be in as much disrepair as it had the last time they were there and the living room curtains shifted as they stepped out of the Impala. Chuck was on the porch before they even got to the front door, watching them anxiously.

The pieces fell into place a moment too late. “Dean!”

But the older Winchester had already charged forward, his anger coiled from his hands up to his shoulders. Chuck figured out what was going on and stepped back. Dean was faster, grabbing Chuck by the shoulders and pinning him to the side of the house. 

All the while, the prophet stared at Sam with wide, pleading eyes. Of course he was. Dean was a good six inches taller than Chuck was and hadn’t so much as touched a drop of alcohol since they’d gotten the call. If Dean really wanted to, he could break Chuck in half without so much as a sweat. And Chuck wouldn’t do anything to stop him either. 

“Where is he?” Dean hissed.

Chuck flinched. “Him? Oh, ah, you mean Cas - I mean Castiel, I definitely meant Castiel. God, _please_ don’t hit me.”

“Tell me and I won’t have to!”

“Dean?”

The door had been pushed open a couple inches at most but there was no mistaking the person standing there. A rush of relief rolled through Sam. He’d been so scared that this was all some sort of cosmic joke, regardless of what Chuck had told him. This entire situation was impossible enough without people seemingly coming back from the dead. He couldn’t even imagine what Dean felt right now.

Or maybe he could. 

It wasn’t hard to recall the way he’d felt when Gabriel had showed up in his motel room, temptations of Dean being alive on his lips. And then when he’d gotten there and Dean was pushing himself up through the ground, a little worn, a little broken but still Dean, it was like the world had given him a second chance. 

Dean pulled away from the wall and brought Castiel into his arms despite the angel’s wide-eyed shock. Neither of them paid any attention to the way Chuck dropped an inch or two, rubbing at his sore shoulders. 

“You want a drink?” 

“Should you really be drinking?” Sam asked, dubious.

Chuck shrugged. “Probably not but, well, I think I deserve it? Being tuned into Winchester TV isn’t exactly all rainbows and sunshine.”

Nothing truer had ever been spoken and so Sam gave him the point as they went back to awkwardly waiting for the doorway to be vacated. It didn’t take more than a moment or two because Dean had clued in on their audience but instead of stepping inside, he pulled Castiel out of the house entirely. 

For all that Dean liked to keep his business private lately, this didn’t surprise Sam in the least. 

“We’re going out for a drive. Don’t wait up for us, Sammy,” Dean announced. 

“Dean, I don’t believe we should-”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Sam interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sure you guys want some time to catch up without me around. I’m just glad you’re alive, honestly.”

A deep crease appeared between Castiel’s eyebrows. “As I am glad that you’ve turned away from the path you were once on. I can no longer tell how much damage the demon blood has done to you but I’m sure the world wouldn’t be standing if you’d continued upon it.”

What Sam was supposed to say to that, he didn’t have the slightest idea. Not that it turned out to matter because Castiel followed Dean to the Impala without another word and Sam was left standing next to Chuck as they drove away. 

Knowing that Dean needed the time away from him, with or without Castiel, did nothing to stop the lump in his throat from growing. It was bad enough that Dean couldn’t meet his eyes more often than not. Sam didn’t need someone else to tell him the only reason his brother had stuck around was because he was fixated on the idea that Sam could be redeemed if he just… pushed a bit harder. But redemption was just as likely as firing an arrow into the sky and hitting the sun. Impossible, by all accounts. He’d managed to accept that.

“So, about that drink,” Chuck offered and Sam was helpless to do anything but follow him inside.

The two of them ended up having far more than a single drink between the two of them. Neither were they willing to share what was on their minds and for once, Sam actually preferred it that way. The last thing he needed was someone to tell him that his guilt was unfounded. Even worse would be having it confirmed. 

At the very least, Chuck seemed to be more than fine with not talking as he nursed his whiskey straight from the bottle. That was the only reason why Sam decided not to comment on the empty bottles scattered around the kitchen. Vodka, whiskey, rum, gin. Chuck didn’t seem to have much of a preference so long as he didn’t have to deal with the problems of real life. Even then it weighed on him, making him seem smaller and more nervous than any person had a right to be. All in all they made depressing drinking partners, Sam realized at one point in the night, as his third glass warmed his veins pleasantly.

But then Chuck stumbled upstairs without so much as a word and Sam was left to find his way to the living room sofa. It was far too small, his legs hanging awkwardly over the edge even when he laid on his side and tried to bring them closer to his chest.

The only other option though was the guest bedroom where Castiel had apparently been staying since that night.

In those moments, as he stared up at Chuck’s living room ceiling, he felt the weight of loneliness begin to settle in from all sides. It was an odd feeling. The fact that the room was spinning around him only made it odder and it took everything he had not to think of Gabriel. That wasn’t to say he succeeded. 

Gabriel had been there night after night and the only thing he’d had to do was call for him. The things he’d done hadn’t mattered, that Hell had taken him as their champion hadn’t mattered. It was the most real connection he’d had with another person since Dean was dragged down to Hell and everything changed. Since he became a volatile person. It only figured he’d managed to screw up the one good thing he had left.

“And here I was, thinking I might get some late night booty.”

Sam’s vision swam in front of him but he could still make out the man standing in the living room. “What are you doing here?”

“Honestly, I get a bit distracted when you’re laying around, whispering my name.” Gabriel shrugged but his face revealed nothing. “You use _just_ enough force that it comes around on my private line loud and clear. Can’t blame a guy for getting the wrong impression.”

“I called you?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Sam shook his head then winced as the spinning multiplied by a thousand. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Had a bit too much to drink there, didn’t you, Sasquatch?” Gabriel asked him.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Or maybe I should say didn’t drink enough.”

Sam leveled a glare at Gabriel but somehow he was already feeling lighter. Lighter than air even, as if he could put everything else to the side so long as Gabriel was in the room. It reminded him of the way the world had disappeared whenever he was with Jess, how nothing mattered in the face of her smile. 

He couldn’t remember why it was a bad thing to make that connection. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asked instead of continuing that train of thought. 

Gabriel sighed and sat down in a chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “No more than I am at this entire situation, kiddo.”

“It means alot to you.” Sam pulled himself up, his legs stretching out in front of him. 

“More than you know,” Gabriel admitted. Silence lingered between them as Gabriel got caught up in his own thoughts and the pensive look enraptured Sam. He’d never seen it before. “Want to hear a story?”

“What kind of story?”

“An old one. It’s a bit lacking in action and sexy times but I can always switch to one of those if this one bores you too much.”

Sam shook his head. “I want to hear it.”

But Gabriel didn’t seem to be ready to tell it. The archangel had fallen silent as he leaned back in his chair, the shadows falling to make his face look all the more serious. Sam knew better than to push. The story would come but as his mind started to clear, the more obvious it became that he respected Gabriel more than enough to wait for this.

“Once there were two beings of light and Grace and joy,” Gabriel began. “With the exception of their Father, they were the only beings in existence and they were inexplicably tied to each other for all eternity. Michael was order where Lucifer was chaos and Lucifer was passion where Michael was apathy.”

“They bore each other’s marks,” Sam realized, taken aback. The prospect had never even occurred to him. 

Gabriel nodded. “They did. And they spent eons moving between this dimension and Heaven’s, exploring the worlds their Father had only just begun to create. Then Raphael came along, not tied to anyone as they were to each other. That was when things started to change between them because their bond was no longer something to be taken for granted but a privilege gifted to them. Kinda made them go a bit crazy when I joined the picture because I didn’t just have one or two bonds but over two hundred of them, all to beings that weren’t even in existence yet.

“It was the first sign we had that Dad had some sort of bigger plan at play and it changed everything. Michael and Lucifer started to argue, and it was only through Raphael that I knew there had once been peace between them. It didn’t help matters that our Father was… elusive, for lack of a better word. Our knowledge grew as He created but Dad’s intentions always remained unclear.

“Shortly afterwards, the rest of the angels were created. Some had bonds as Michael, Lucifer and I did but more of them didn’t, and so they were accepted as just another part of our existence. We had peace for a time.”

And it hadn’t lasted. Of course it hadn’t. Sam had heard that part of the story a thousand different times over the past few years, or at least some inaccurate variation of it. But he stayed focused on Gabriel even as he stared off in the distance, distracted. 

There was more to this story.

Sam pressed his foot to Gabriel’s and then the archangel’s attention was on him, amber eyes swimming with confusion. A small smile made Gabriel roll his eyes but he didn’t pull away and it remained the sole point of contact between them. It anchored them to each other and to the here and the now, made thoughts and memories of eons past seem distant once more. 

“Then came Lucifer’s Uprising and with it, his banishment to his Cage,” Gabriel continued on, softer than before. “Hell was created around it but that’s a different story. I stayed in Heaven with Michael and Raphael for a time, always playing the middle man between, well, Michael and everyone. It wasn’t easy. But it was my job and so I did it.

“More like I suffered through it, actually. With Lucifer in the Cage, neither Mike or Raph would so much as talk about the bonds and it made things a bit tense between the three of us. Then about four thousand years ago, our Father came to see me just as I was rearing up to leave Heaven entirely. I thought He’d come to punish me.” Gabriel laughed to himself and then shook his head, forcing himself back to the story. “He didn’t. Instead he told me about this itty bitty little planet out in the middle of nowhere where the most fascinating creatures lived. We knew about, of course we knew about it. Dad favoured you guys more than anyone else and we’d all heard about how we were to bring Paradise there one day.

“But then he asked me if I knew why. Didn’t even bother to clarify. Did I know why he favoured them? Did I know why they were so fascinating? Hell, did I know why I was bonded to so many? Still, I left that night and never went back.”

Sam let the piece of Gabriel’s past settle into his bones. “Did you ever figure you what he was talking about?”

“Nah,” Gabriel admitted and then smirked wickedly, the serious air fading, “but about a month later, I decided to experience one of your guys’s more carnal pleasures. The things she could do with her tongue. Then she told me God must have loved me a lot to give me so many people to care about me. Trust me, that was _not_ a night to forget.”

Sam laughed and felt the smile spread across his face for the first time in too long. And then he couldn’t stop. It was like a virus, spreading through his body until there was nothing left but rolling joy that only served to make him feel all the heavier. It ended with one last shuddering breath, head tipped back. His jaw wavered and the ceiling swam in front of him for the wrong reasons. 

Why.

It was such a deceptively simple question. 

One he’d been asking himself for years and years and years. Why was the mark on his back so big? Why did his mother have to die? Why did they have to leave every town they stayed in? Why did Jess have to die? Why was the Trickster the one who belonged to his wings? Why did Dean let himself get dragged down to Hell for him? Why? Why? Why?

“Thanks for telling me,” Sam said instead of all the thoughts sprinting through his head like they were competing for first place. “You didn’t have to.”

“Next time I’ll tell you something far more interesting then that old thing. Like the time I was stuck on board a ship with Alexander the Great for a month. Let me tell you, that man was nowhere near the saint some people make him out to be,” Gabriel boasted. His grin faded a bit as he watched Sam. “You want me to stick around a bit?”

Sam shook his head. “I need to sleep this off. Just don’t be a stranger, okay?”

But Gabriel was already gone again, chair and everything as Sam was left to Chuck’s too-small sofa and a lifetime worth of guilt. Nothing had changed, he tried to tell himself, but the truth of the matter was that it felt like everything had. And for once, it felt as if things had changed for the better. 

Which meant he only had to wait for the other shoe to drop, as it surely would sooner rather than later. The world took a grim liking to seeing him in pain.

* * *

The front door slammed and sent Sam tumbling to the floor. Light wasn’t shining through the front window and so he didn’t know what time it was or even how long it had been since Gabriel had left. It had taken him a long time to get comfortable enough to sleep. Sleep that was now ruined just as surely as his face was planted in the foul-smelling carpet. 

Sam closed his eyes as he heard the footsteps come closer. Maybe if he just stayed like this then he would be left alone. If Chuck being murdered in his sleep was the price he had to pay to get a bit more sleep, well, then there were prices for everything. 

But the footsteps didn’t continue on to the stairs and he could make out the pitter patter of typing from the kitchen. 

“Can’t waste the whole day away, Sammy!”

“Yes, I can,” he grumbled and he didn’t have to look up to recognize Dean’s shoes.

“But you don’t want to-”

“You don’t know what I _want_ , Dean!”

“You don’t want to miss out on this. Ellen phoned this morning. Our good friend the Devil’s been spotted again, after his long hiatus.” 

Any comfort Sam had felt, any sense of peace he’d imagined drained away. Dean was still staring down at him and he slowly got up on his feet. There was more than a little glee hidden in his brother’s eyes, just enough that he couldn’t will it away as part of his imagination. His shoulders felt heavy and his body exhausted. He wasn’t sure how to handle another town like the last one where people’s guts had painted the streets.

“Where?”

“England.” Sam faltered and Dean grinned. “Yeah, our little friend decided to hop across the pond. Apparently he was in some village called Briton or something.”

“Briston?” Sam corrected.

“Yeah, that.”

“And we’re not…?” he trailed off, the answer already given to him. 

Of course they weren’t going to England. Dean wouldn’t be nearly so thrilled if they had to board any sort of plane which meant they were finally going to stop Lucifer-chasing. It was like some dark, twisted dream come true. One where they shoved Sam’s problems onto someone else. 

“Course not. Bobby got hold of a couple hunters that way and told them of the troubles we’ve been having. Left out the Devil part but they weren’t born yesterday. Plus, he says he’s finally pieced that thing together,” Dean explained.

Sam frowned. “Which thing? Last I checked, Bobby had at least five things he was working on. And those were only the ones he told us about.”

Dean paused awkwardly, coming to the conclusion Sam had already guessed. “He wouldn’t say.”

“Right.”

Once he would have pushed the issue, called Dean out on his bullshit. That wasn’t going to happen now, not even with Castiel making wide, confused eyes at his brother and giving him the perfect opening. Just as once he would have teased Dean mercilessly for not getting back until well into the morning. There were lines between them and he would always be angry at himself for putting them there. 

The typing from kitchen stopped. Their attention focused on that point, waiting for the prophet to emerge and say goodbye and good riddance. It picked back again a few moments later with just as much ferocity as it had had to begin with. 

It was as much of a goodbye as they were likely to ever get. 

They drove for the better part of the day, daytime twilight chasing them into Wyoming as it had every state before. The only relief was that it wasn’t nearly as tense as it had been just the day before, broken up by the occasion comment. Even a joke here or there, courtesy of Dean. Sam vaguely wondered if it was play for Castiel, to assure the angel that things were the same as they’d always been. 

It hadn’t taken Sam long to realize they weren’t. Dean asked after Castiel’s well being a bit too often and the angel himself seemed different. Didn’t hold himself quite as awkwardly as he had in the handful of times Sam had met him, talked with a bit more inflection, a bit less confused when it came to the things of everyday life. All in all, Castiel seemed more human. The prospect should have been impossible but Sam’s theory got stronger with every passing second. 

Then the air charged, a faint scent of ozone once covered up sickly sweet candy. And in the empty spot next to Castiel was Gabriel, his arm thrown over his brother’s shoulders.

“Aren’t we one big happy family?” his voice dripped in sarcasm. 

“You,” Dean hissed.

The Impala swerved off the road, the car behind them leaning on its horn as it continued forward before disappearing behind a bend. Dean swiveled around in his seat the moment he took her key out of the commission. His face promised death to the one he looked upon. Gabriel grinned back, unrepentant. 

“Hello, Dean-o. And Sasquatch, naturally, though we are a bit more well acquainted than I am with this brute,” Gabriel played up.

“Gabriel.”

It must have come out fonder than Sam had expected for Dean turned to fix his glare on him instead. He kept his gaze firmly on the back seat.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked.

“Why the hostility? It hasn’t been all _that_ long since we on stable ground. Well, stable-ish ground. But the blame can’t all be placed on me.”

“It’s been weeks! And I bet you knew Cas was at that useless prophet’s house the entire time.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, casting a surprised look at Castiel. “That’s where you’ve been hiding out all this time? I mean, I’ve picked up a phrase or two from good old angel radio but none of them so much as suspected that. Good job, little bro.”

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t a decision made of my own discretion,” Castiel admitted. “I wasn’t very mobile after Raphael fled from our fight and the Prophet was kind enough to let me heal there. He is a good man.”

“As most prophets are,” Gabriel agreed.

“Though I am to understand that my survival is thanks to you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think you’ll find yourself cursing me with the best of them sooner rather than later.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “And why would he do that?”

“Cause Cassie and I have got some very important business to take care of.” Gabriel paused and purposely tightened his fingers around Castiel’s shoulder. “And the two of you aren’t the first ones to tell me I have the tendency to piss people off.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere, jackass,” Dean snapped, reaching for the gun hidden in the glovebox.

Gabriel didn’t seem the slightest bit worried. “Sam, you got any protests?”

“I-”

Sam stopped himself even as Dean was cursing at him to get out of the way. There was something about the look on Gabriel’s face that pulled him back to the soft lull of the night before. There had been trust between them. Maybe it had been given to him in the heat of the moment but it had been given nonetheless. 

Now he had to show this wasn’t a one way street between them.

“No, just return him to us in one piece, okay? He doesn’t need to be put back together again.”

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men!” Gabriel joked and then they were gone.

All that was left was the familiar rush of cars speeding by paired with the occasional honk, urging them to get off the side of the road. They stayed where they were for a moment then two and then Dean turned the key and they were back on the road again. They needed to get to South Dakota soon. And if Dean was content with taking things out on other drivers then Sam wasn’t going to complain.

The radio crackled minutes later. “Oh, and I’m telling you this out of the kindness of my heart, but you should really do something about that demonic tail you've got before you get to Singer’s.”


	6. Everything Lit Aflame

“We should just get back on the road,” Dean muttered. He scowled down at the empty pop can as it veered out of his path with a single kick but continued on. “Whatever Bobby’s got lined up for us has got to be better than this piece of shit town.”

“There’s no one here. Doesn’t that strike you as just the slightest bit odd?” Sam countered. 

“Canada closing its borders was odd. Doesn’t mean I’m asking what they’re hiding over there. We got enough on our plate as is.”

Sam eyed Dean suspiciously. “I thought you said you didn’t like the news.”

“I don’t.”

He opened his mouth to comment but closed it again with a shake of his head. Dean’s face was shut off, looking at anything other than Sam. Of course. It wasn’t as if they could have a real conversation about something these days. Not even on neutral territory such as the Apocalypse or the slow destruction of international politics. He wished he were naive enough to believe it was only because Dean hated the reminder of what was going on around him.

A quick check of the small grocery store on the corner revealed the same thing all the other stores had. Nothing. Not even any evidence of a fight. It just looked as if everyone had gotten up and left in the middle of the night.

It was beginning to look like Dean was right. His shotgun felt like it was more for show than anything else and Dean’s was even slung over his shoulder. Maybe along with the towns of possessed people, they were going to face towns like this too. Ghost towns. Caricatures of the lives people had led before it all began. Reminders of how badly he managed to screw things up, as if he needed any more of those.

But something in his gut was telling him there was more to it.

“You hear anything from Michael lately?” he asked casually.

Dean’s face twisted. “Like you’ve heard from Lucifer? Because I hear he’s a great conversationalist. Doesn’t mind getting to know you before he takes over your meat suit.”

“Dean-”

“Shut it, Sam. I may not have your girly pigtails but I can handle it, okay?”

“But you were just getting to the good stuff! Please do continue pouring your hearts out to each other. You’ll just have to forgive me when I make it a bit more literal.”

They turned around, Dean’s shotgun slipping off his shoulder as they both levelled their guns towards the sole demon standing in the street behind them. It was occupying the body of a young woman, her bright red hair a splash of colour against her pale skin and dark, tight clothes. There was always something about the way demons stood that made them stand out in a crowd. A bit too much confidence to their gait, more similar to a predator toying with its prey than an arrogant human. Others wouldn’t have noticed it but they’d seen too many demons, had been waist-deep in this shit for too long.

The demon didn’t waste any time closing the distance between them, heels echoing through the street. It watched their shotguns with thinly veiled curiosity but they didn’t shoot. There was no point. A bullet to the stomach might slow a demon down for a few minutes but it would also kill the poor girl trapped inside.

An exorcism was possible. If they managed to trap the demon in the Demon’s Trap they hadn’t prepared. 

Ruby’s knife was tucked away under his shirt but there was still the problem of the host. Saving her was the most important thing at this point, up until they were given some sort of proof that she wouldn’t survive anyways.

This was why Sam hated demons.

“Conversation was over anyways,” Dean replied. “Now, care to tell us what a sweet girl like you is doing in a town like this?”

“Sweet? I’m insulted. I’m sure even someone like you can come up with something bit more… accurate. In fact, I know you can.”

“Didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

Sam tightened his grip on his shotgun. “Now, you were going to tell us what you’re doing here?”

“No, I don’t think I was,” the demon mused. It smoothed out the invisible wrinkles of the short, black dress it wore and its grin grew. “You see, it’s much more interesting to watch the two of you flounder about. And a thousand times more interesting than watching the people in this town. They were all so _nice_ and it had so long since I’d had a good meal. At least humans are good for something. Well, two things in particular. Food and screaming as they watch.”

“You-”

“Ate them? Yes. I love tearing the meat from their bones, and there’s just so many ways to prepare it. Baked hands really are my favourite. And you Winchesters can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, we can,” Dean replied. “We’ve been dealing with you sons of bitches for a long time now. Hope you weren’t too fond of being topside.”

Familiar vowels and consonants of an exorcism played through the street in Dean’s voice. Sam let his gaze flicker over to where Dean held out his cell phone before focusing back on the demon. A recording of an exorcism. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him before that something like that would work. 

But apparently Dean had thought about it enough to try and put it into action, all without mentioning a word to Sam. Of course not. Because then Sam would be in the loop, not staring awkwardly from the outside. 

The demon tilted its head. “Isn’t that sweet? A lullaby. Too bad nobody told you the lyrics are a bit… inappropriate.”

The recording was halfway through.

The demon just stood there, watching with that same predatory look. Its eyes hadn’t flashed to black. It didn’t look as if the exorcism was affecting it at all. Just frustratingly smug.

“Cute but this is getting boring, boys.”

Dean went sailing through the shop window to their right with a flick of its wrist. The exorcism cut out moments later, too muffled and far away to do anything anyways. Sam dropped his shotgun and reached behind him Ruby’s knife. His eyes stayed on the demon as he charged forward with the intent to kill. It didn’t matter if the girl lived. Not anymore. This demon was too dangerous, too volatile to account for such things. But it only looked bored as it held a hand out in front of it.

That was the only warning Sam got before the air left his lungs. He clutched at his throat, feeling thin, scaly fingers squeezing around it. His body lifted off the ground and his legs flailed beneath him in a desperate attempt to gain some sort of footing.

“D-dean,” he forced out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

There was no response.

Just the shine of Ruby’s knife below him.

Black sports swarmed his vision, shifting and changing each time he tried to blink them away. Except they wouldn’t go away. They just got worse and worse until they filled most of his sight, bits and pieces of his surroundings shining through instead of the other way around. 

This was it. That was going to be the end of him at the hand of some shit demon. There wouldn’t be any last goodbyes, no chance to give those last few apologies he owed everyone. He’d never gain Dean’s forgiveness, not completely. He’d never see Gabriel smile at him in anything more than sarcastic amusement. Hell, he wouldn’t even get to know Castiel as anything other than Dean’s other soulmate. There were a thousand things he still needed to do but he could feel them slipping away from him with each passing second.

His body hit the ground.

Sam barely even noticed as he gasped for air, his fingers still clutching at his throat. His lungs were burning. Everything was burning. Even the tips of his fingers felt impossibly far away. If another few seconds had passed with those scaly fingers wrapped around his throat, he wouldn’t be around anymore. 

The clacking of heels echoed over the sound of his own rough breathing. It seemed impossibly close and impossibly loud but didn’t stop until the demon was standing almost on top of him. The demon leaned down to take a closer look at him, a dangerous glint in its eyes.

“I hope you understand, Sam Winchester, that I’m letting you go. You didn’t escape, you didn’t survive. I let you go. Had the situation been different, I would have ravished you. Few souls are as inclined towards darkness as yours is.”

“Why?” he asked. The word came out as barely a shadow of what he intended it to.

The demon didn’t comment. “Not everyone is as fond of Lucifer as Lucifer is. Many see your denial of him as commendable. Plus, there’s no point in destroying a limited food supply.”

The girl’s head tipped back and red smoke shot out of her mouth, travelling up into the sky until Sam could no longer see it. She collapsed to the ground as the last wisp of smoke left her. Sam didn’t have to move to see that she was still breathing, her body roughened up but still much more alive than he’d dared hope. It was a black spot in their mostly red ledger. 

“Sam?”

“Over here,” he called back. He rolled onto his back, his throat impossibly sore and then winced as he shifted and the handle of Ruby’s knife dug into his back.

Dean appeared out of the broken storefront a few minutes later, glass breaking under his feet. Small cuts covered his face and shoulder, matched with the splattering of light purple around his eyes. Not unexpected considering Dean took on a window and whatever he’d crashed through inside. Things were going to hurt for a while though. For both of them.

“Is she…?”

Sam nodded and then winced at the flare of pain that ran through his throat. “Alive and unpossessed. For now, at least.”

“Good.” Dean shifted, his face hardening as he stared at Sam. “Now, how about you tell me what that was all about?”

“What are you talking about? This isn’t exactly the first time we’ve been attacked by a demon. I wouldn’t even rate it in our Top Ten, honestly. Your recording idea was brilliant but it didn’t work and so we’ll know for next time. Its host didn’t even die,” Sam replied.

“I don’t know what you think of me, Sam, but I got eyes. You really think I missed that whole little powwow the two of you had? What did she offer you? Power? Freedom? From the guilt? From me?” Dean snapped.

Sam hardened, pulling himself up until he towered over his older brother. “Nothing, she offered me nothing, Dean.”

“So, you’re expecting me to believe it just let you go and left for no reason?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe you.”

They glared at each other, incapable of moving past this standstill. Sam could feel the angry knot of betrayal settling in his chest. Even if Dean hadn’t exactly been jumping to trust him, he’d thought they’d moved past this at least. The suspicion that Sam was off galavanting with every demon they came across that acted even the slightest bit suspicious. Which happened to be most of them. 

The girl coughed awkwardly and they both turned their heads to see her staring up at them with large brown eyes. She looked a lot smaller than she had when the demon was possessing her, and out of place in the tight dress and heels. More than that, there was a darkness hiding in her eyes. Sam could recognize it with ease by this point in time. It was something that only came with survivors who’d been forced to do horrible things, far more than the garden variety demon would manage. 

“He’s telling the truth,” she offered to them quietly. “The demon, Marchosias, it didn’t want to kill you guys. Not like… not like it wanted to kill the others.”

Dean knelt down, argument forgotten. “And who might you be, anyways?”

“Charlie. Charlie Bradbury.” She smiled at them weakly, though it only managed to make her look sadder.

“Well, if this demon didn’t want to sway Sam over to the dark side, then tell me just why it was here. Because I’m seeing a lot of holes and I’m long past going the road of blind faith in my little brother here.”

Charlie looked between the two of them and her face grew grim. “It… Marchosias wants you guys to defeat Lucifer. Or at least, I’m pretty sure it was you guys. It’s not like there’s any sort of Demon Possession 101 out there. Pretty crappy welcoming basket as it was.”

“Defeat Lucifer? Doesn’t that go against everything the demons are fighting for?” Sam asked, frowning.

“Hate to admit it, but the big guy’s got a point. Lucifer’s the only reason there’s so many of them topside, it would kinda go against all that if they turned on the big guy now,” Dean agreed.

“So it’s true then?” Charlie asked quietly. “The big guy - Satan with a capital ‘S’ - is real? And he’s walking around free, ready to burn everything to the ground?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, an unspoken agreement forming between them. Charlie was just a girl, a victim in the middle of this all. The last thing she needed right now, or ever, was to have them questioning what happened to her while she was being possessed. Sam didn’t like thinking about the week he’d spent at Meg’s mercy and she hadn’t done anything as horrible as eating a townful of people. 

There hadn’t even been the revelation of Lucifer and the Apocalypse on top of all that. No, him and Dean needed to do what they always did. Save people. Even if lately that had fallen to the wayside.

“Is there anywhere we can take you? Any friends or relatives you can stay with for a while?” Sam asked her gently.

She shook her head. “Nope, just me. Me and this very empty town.”

“You can come with us then.” Dean nodded, as if that was all there was to it. “We got a friend, goes by Jo Harvelle, and she’s been working on this whole network thing. Something to help people. Don’t ask me how it works but I’m sure she can get you some place to stay for a little while and we were headed to meet up with her anyways.”

They didn’t bother to try and find the remains of the townspeople before they raced out of town like the Devil was on their heels. Just like there was no need to ask about survivors when the answers were there for them when they looked at Charlie. Instead they put miles of road between them and that ghost of a town, and pretended they didn’t have a ghost sitting in the back seat, a lot less literal than that statement normally was. 

Sioux City was upon them sooner than they could have guessed, no traffic or police to stop Dean from speeding along as fast as the Impala could carry them. Bobby was quickly updated on the situation and in turn, Sam got directions to the motel room they were meeting up in. For the most part, however, it was a lot of silence as they continued forward.

Hardly bearable but Sam wasn’t about to be the one to break it.

Bobby opened the door for them the moment they drove into the motel parking lot, staring at them with unflinching eyes from under his baseball cap. The first thing Sam noticed as he stepped inside was that they were the last to arrive. Rufus and Jo were sitting at the small table that accompanied the even smaller kitchen, cards laid out on the table. There were a few other hunters there as well, ones Sam didn’t recognize but Dean nodded to in offhanded acknowledgement. 

The second thing Sam noticed was that the motel room was far too lived in to just be a meeting place. It was tidy, yes, but there was a thick suitcase on the suitcase stand and dishes in the sink. Odd, considering Sioux Falls was barely an hour away.

“Boys,” Bobby greeted them.

Sam relaxed for the first time in hours. “Hey, Bobby.”

“See you didn’t take my advice on the heavily bruised look. Either of you.”

“I don’t know, Bobby. I think it suits them. Nothing says rugged warrior like being beaten up by a girl, though I can’t really say it appeals to me,” Jo snarked, shooting them an easy grin. “I’ve always preferred it the other way around, honestly.”

“What, beating up handsome men? Because nobody’s surprised about that, Joanna Beth,” Dean shot back, not missing a beat.

Jo laughed. “Missed you too, Dean.”

“Can’t say the same for the rest of us. But only a Harvelle’s crazy enough to dive right into you Winchester’s shit.” Rufus eyed them suspiciously then let his gaze drift over to where Bobby still stood beside the door. “Or a Singer, I suppose.”

“Shove it, Rufus. We got more important things to deal with than your ceaseless whining,” Bobby grumbled. 

“Don’t think any of us are about to forget the Winchesters started this.”

Sam couldn’t tell which one of them said it but the air went tense with charged energy regardless, most of it coming from the couple of hunters he couldn’t recognize. Of course. Hunters who’d likely had John Winchester on their shit list back in the day and never bothered to reassess their opinion of Winchesters. Not that Sam could even blame them. His father had never been the best at making friends. And they had started the Apocalypse.

“So, I’m going to guess you guys know each other then.” Charlie’s voice came from behind them and Sam suddenly realized just how out of place she looked here. “And that means this… isn’t exactly a new thing. Just how long has this whole world domination thing been going on for anyways?”’

They all went silent, finding different things to look at.

“Months? Years? Decades, even? Well, probably not that long. I think I would have noticed something a bit sooner if that were the case,” she pushed.

“It’s only been a few months. But, Charlie-”

She held up her hand and Sam stopped midsentence. “No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to say something crazy, like - like _ghosts_ exist! Or that you’ve been raised to fight demons since you got out of diapers and that’s why I should stay out of this. Which no way, not happening.”

“Which part?” Dean asked.

“All of it!”

“Fair enough. We did pass by insane three years ago and trust me when I say we haven’t left batshit crazy since.”

“I… I need some air.”

Charlie drifted out of the room and none of them stopped her. All of them knew better. They’d had that moment when they realized all the stories of monsters under their beds were real, whether they were children or grown men. The only thing that ever made it easier was time and acclimation. Maybe it was just that things just kept getting crazier to the point where the other stuff didn’t seem so crazy anymore.

Sam could still remember when Dean told him about what their dad really did. How travelling salesman didn’t exactly cover all the things that John Winchester did, all the things that he killed. It wasn’t long after he realized other families didn’t leave town every couple weeks. Or line the doors and windows with salt for protection. Or keep guns in the nightstand just in case something happened. Or live out of motel rooms at all, for that matter. He’d refused to talk to either of them for nearly three hours and Dean had lost himself with worry, twelve years old and more of a parent than John would ever be.

“I suppose now’s as good a time as any to get on with things,” Bobby muttered and then reached for the rolled up maps leaning against the wall.

Rufus cleared off the cards from whatever game him and Jo had playing as Bobby spread them out on the table and the same bit of counter. One was a detailed map of America while another was of the world and a third of the Middle East. It didn’t exactly make things any clearer but towns were circled all over in black permanent marker and Bobby was staring at them as if they were supposed to know all the answers.

“This supposed to be anything more than the scribbles of a mad man, Singer?” Rufus was the first to dare and break the awkward silence that had spread across the room. 

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Course it is. From what I could find, there’s certain places all ‘round the world that hold some sort of special power. Ain’t really any more specific than that but I figure there’s no harm in checking a few of them out, see if there’s anything we can use to put Lucifer seven feet under again. These are just the ones I was able to confirm before the whole thing went up in flames but I’d eat my hat if there aren’t another thirty that I missed.”

“Can’t say this looks like anything more than a wild goose chase,” Dean admitted and a hum of agreement followed from the others.

“Well, it comforts me that the lot of you have eyes.” Bobby turned away from the maps and fished a pen from the nightstand. Shoving the couple of older hunters out of the way, he stood over the map of the world and filled something in. “Can’t say anything about the state of your brains though. This look familiar to any of ya?”

Bobby stepped back for a moment and none of them could have mistaken the Devil’s Trap that had been drawn onto the map, almost all of the marked towns falling on one of the lines. The few that didn’t had already been singled out with question marks.

“Could just be a coincidence, honestly. Looking for patterns when there aren’t really any but it’s the closest thing we got to a lead so far, unless any of you bozos have something you’d like to share with the class. Perhaps a few friends hiding away with more… experience with this sort of thing.”

Sam squirmed under Bobby’s gaze but didn’t say a word. There was nothing to say. Gabriel might have known something but the archangel hadn’t told him anything, and Sam was certain he would, if it were something they really needed to know. Like a way to thrown Lucifer back in his Cage or kill him, if it really came to that.

Jo snorted. “I wish. Wouldn’t want to ruin this whole Apocalypse gig though, would I?”

“Course not. Since we all hold such fond opinions of the Devil and all.”

“Yeah, yeah. Care to get to the point?” one of the others muttered, his arms crossed in front of him. “You can’t tell me you expect us to check each of these places out. I can tell you already that we’re not going to find anything. This entire meeting is nothing more than false hope.”

“And what exactly would you have us do?” Sam asked before he could stop himself. “Give up? Let Lucifer destroy everything without even checking this out? Because I’m going to take a look, even if it turns out there’s nothing to find.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you aren’t at his side right now.”

“Brian,” the man beside the stranger muttered in warning.

“Oh shut it, we’ve talked about this. You were as unsurprised as I was when we found out Sam Winchester started this all and not just because you’re a bloody Winchester. I always thought there was something off about you, we all did, and if your involvement in all this turns out to be some sort of ruse, well, I’ll be the first one to say I told you so,” Brian snapped.

“Out!” Bobby growled. “Get out of this room, Cormac, and maybe I won’t think about shooting your ass the next time I see you.”

Brian shook his head but left without another word, the door slamming behind him. Sam stared at the closed door as if it would make the words stop stinging. They didn’t. Other hunters, ones who couldn’t have known about the demon blood, hadn’t trusted him. Had thought that there was something wrong with him. Had probably thought so long before he figured it out for himself.

The others were talking but he couldn’t say what about, not even when the hunter Brian had been with left quietly behind him. It wasn’t as if the revelation really surprised him, it didn’t. It was just more proof to the things he’d already known. That he was something less than human. That he should have never gotten back into hunting all those years ago. That what Azazel had done to him hadn’t just given him a couple of neat tricks. 

It had changed him in a way he’d never truly understand.

“You shouldn’t let bastards like that get to you,” Dean muttered, drawing Sam’s attention away from that particular train of thought. “They’d think the world was flat if someone told them it was. As if you’d actually side with Lucifer when it came down with things.”

Sam shook his head, instead choosing to watch Jo, Rufus and Bobby split up the so-called places of power between the six of them. “He was right though. If it hadn’t been for Gabe, who knows what would have happened. I could have been Lucifer’s date to the prom right now.”

“I would have kicked some sense into your ass long before that.”

“Before or after Lucifer killed you? I barely got out of there as it was.”

“About right when that asshole showed up and took all my glory. I was there, Sammy, in the chapel and then all of a sudden, I was in Bobby’s kitchen. The only consolation was that you showed up a few minutes later.”

“That wouldn’t have-”

Dean gave him a hard look and Sam swallowed, looking away. It wouldn’t have made a difference though, he knew that. That much power flowing through his veins and Lilith’s dead body on the ground in front of him had been impossibly tempting. Even finding out Ruby had been playing him that entire time didn’t make him want to stop. Not really.

It didn’t take much for the North American sites to get split up between them. Bobby and Rufus would take the north, going up into Canada, while Jo would head south, all the way down to the Panama and further if she had the time. That left Sam and Dean with everything in between. Bobby promised to call up some of his contacts over in Europe to check out some of the sites over there if they managed to find anything. The only tricky part was going to the sites in Africa where Bobby had no contacts to reach out to.

Or rather, it was the only tricky part they could currently foresee. Sam wasn’t naive enough to believe things weren’t going to go wrong at every twist and corner. 

They always did. 

Charlie joined them again after a while, quiet but determined as she declared she wanted to help Jo’s efforts. The rest of them stared as she silently dared them to question her decision. Sam, at least, kept his mouth shut. And like that, it was decided with nothing more than a grin and a nod from Jo. 

It was nearly midnight by the time Sam and Dean climbed back into the Impala, too wired to do anything other than drive north along the border to Sioux Falls. Down the familiar turn off to Singer’s Junkyard and Bobby’s house. Into the driveway just after the third abandoned car on the right. Past the wards neither of them could feel or see but knew were there nonetheless. Because it was Bobby and Bobby didn’t live anyplace where there were as many wards as Bobby knew carved into its very foundations.

That wasn’t what they found as the Impala’s headlights lit the place up. Not the house they’d considered a home base for years. Or even a junkyard, full of rusted cars.

Bobby’s house had turned into a blackened framework of wood and a strong wind could have blown it to bits. They didn’t have to look around to know nothing was salvageable, didn’t even have to leave the Impala. Regardless, Bobby had undoubtedly searched through it all already in an attempt to save whatever scraps of his old life he could. As well as his research, because they knew nothing would make Bobby give that up.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing was untouchable anymore.

* * *

“Dean.”

The Impala swerved and the car in the other lane leaned on its horn as it continued past. Sam held back a smirk as Dean pulled over, putting the car into park before turning around to glare at Castiel.

“Shit, Cas! I thought that freaky thing you carved into our ribs meant we have to tell you where we are! Meaning you can’t sneak up on me like that,” Dean snapped. “And we _talked_ about you showing up while I’m driving.”

Castiel frowned. “You did mention it, yes. However, I thought this situation-”

“How did you find us? Can the other angels find us?”

“No. At least, I don’t believe so. Gabriel informed me of your location, though he would not tell me how he knew it, but that’s a matter for another time. I know where the Whore is, as well as the identity of the body she’s occupying,” Castiel explained.

“That’s great,” Sam cut in before Dean had the chance to say something inappropriate. “You… do mean the Whore of Babylon, right?”

“Of course. What other Whore would I be referring to? I believe she is an important political figure, however Gabriel described her position as imaginary. I doubt that has any significance at the moment though.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned the Impala off before he turned back around again. “Yeah, well, that’s nothing new. Politics are like that, Cas.”

“No, you don’t understand. The position didn’t exist up until a couple weeks ago. It took a while to realize Leah Gideon because everyone seems to believe she’s held the position for years.”

“Leah Gideon?” Sam asked, frowning. 

Of course she’d been around for years, Leah Gideon was the Presidential Attendant. Sam was certain he could remember doing a class project on her in grade school, talking about the things she’d done in one of the many different classes he’d been in. Ms. Frieson’s, most likely. His third fourth grade class. But the more he thought about it, the less certain he became. What had she done as the Presidential Attendant? What was she even supposed to do?

The only thing he could remember her doing was the intermediary work he’d gleaned off the news in the mornings. The very important intermediary work that had started a few weeks ago in response to the “international crisis.” Most of the countries had dropped out of the discussions in the last week. And then promptly closed their borders, making sure no one could come or leave.

But it still seemed so impossible. 

And yet, Sam couldn’t recall who the Presidential Attendant had been before her. Leah Gideon wasn’t old by any stretch, so there had to be someone. But there wasn’t. A name didn’t come to mind nor a face nor a vague impression of seeing someone in news articles or on the TV.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said firmly.

Dean moved to turn the Impala on again. “Change of plans then? We hightail it down to DC, hope she hasn’t started on her plans for world domination, then gank the bitch. Can’t say I trusted her anyways. However that works.”

“You really think things are going to be that easy, boys?” Gabriel popped into existence, arm spread out over Castiel’s shoulder and a candy bar in his other hand. “Seems Lucy’s gone the route of the Harlots. Always thought he preferred the Horsemen but what do I know? Not enough, it seems.”

Dean stiffened, his lips flattening out into a thin line. “You should know enough to figure out where you should shove that-”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam hissed, “he’s here to help us. Would it really hurt you to be polite?”

“Yeah, Sammy, it does. This guy killed me over and over again, and if you’re forgetting, but he made you live through each time! I was willing to be cordial after he saved your girly ass but that was months ago now and the only time we’ve seen him since is when he took Cas away from us.”

“I’m hearing a lot of we and us but you do know what they say about assuming, don’t you, Dean-o?”

Sam felt the full intensity of Dean’s gaze turn on him. “Sam, you would have told me, right? If you were seeing this bastard in any capacity.”

The silence that followed, full of meaning, spoke for itself. The door slammed behind Dean as he got out of the car and Sam’s door opened a moment later. Dean didn’t hesitate as he pulled Sam out of the car, not pausing as he went around to the back and threw Sam’s bag on the ground.

“Dean, I can explain!” Sam shouted as he scrambled to his feet.

The Impala’s trunk slammed shut. “Can you? Because I thought we weren’t keeping secrets anymore!”

“I already told you what Gabriel is to me,” Sam tried to explain. Not that Dean seemed willing to hear it. “And I told you how we met up-”

“But that was _before_. When you were jacked up on demon blood!”

Sam felt his blood start to boil and not for the first time, he craved the power the blood had given him. Maybe then he would be able to make Dean see how wrong he was about this. He didn’t even know what this was about, why Dean was suddenly taking offense over him and Gabriel.

“It didn’t just go away when I stopped drinking demon blood, Dean! None of it did. Gabriel is still my soulmate, I still you to trust me once in awhile, sometimes I wonder if you’re still my brother,” he shouted.

Any emotion on Dean’s face slid away. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m not.”

There was no stopping Dean from climbing back inside the Impala, not even a glance over his shoulder as he raced down the road. As far away from Sam as he could possibly get. Sam didn’t miss the fact that the angels were suddenly missing from the back seat either. But all he wanted to do at the moment was fall back on the ground and not get up again for days, as his anger started to drain away.

Nobody needed to tell him he’d gone too far, not even as the Impala disappeared from sight entirely. Dean was his brother. Sam had no doubt of that, not really. He didn’t have any doubts when it came to Dean, except on just how much Hell had managed to change him. And if Dean would ever really trust him again. There was little doubt he’d just destroyed any chances he had of that happening by putting his own foot in his mouth. Nothing had gone right over the past few days. 

It had really only been a matter of time before he screwed things up even more.

Sam eventually grabbed his bag from ground and hoisted it over his shoulder. There were a lot of miles between him and the nearest town, and no one dared pick up hitchhikers anymore, especially not if they were tall, muscled men. Dean wasn’t going to turn back around. Even if he regretted kicking Sam out, hours would have gone by before he admitted it to himself. 

The worst part, he considered as he continued down the highway, was that he couldn’t bring himself to regret saying those things. He’d gone too far, yes, but they’d been burning a hole inside of him for months now. The demon blood had changed him but it hadn’t caused those feelings of distrust. Dean hadn’t exactly helped things either, he attempted to convince himself, by blowing up at him for not mentioning Gabriel.

“Big bro Winchester hasn’t cooled off any.”

Sam’s eyes flickered over to the short man suddenly walking beside him. “I’m not surprised.”

Gabriel bobbed his head and continued walking on beside him, hands shoved in his pockets. It took him a moment to realize Sam had stopped but he eventually stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

“You’re here.”

“Course I am, Sasquatch! So long as you don’t take it as my support with this whole Apocalypse business because I am very much not getting involved with all that,” Gabriel confirmed.

“I won’t,” Sam said.

And he meant it. Gabriel hadn’t promised him anything other than his presence, so long as Sam wanted it. He didn’t want to put unfair expectations on Gabriel, not like the ones Dean had put on him. Family was the most important, at the end of the day.

Gabriel shook his head. “You’re one hard to understand man, Sam Winchester.”

“Like you can talk. Is there a mantel you haven’t taken up before? Trickster, archangel, pagan. I’m sure there’s a few more you haven’t mentioned too.”

“I’ve stayed away from Bruce Wayne. Dark and broody isn’t really my gig - I’m more of a Peter Parker myself. You, on the other hand, fit Bruce Wayne to a T. You got the muscles, the whole ‘cloaked in darkness’ shtick, a tendency to take on the world’s problems, and, well, no one’s about to say Bruce Wayne is unattractive.”

Sam laughed, feeling light as he watched Gabriel from the corner of his eye. 

“No one’s about to say Peter Parker is unattractive either.”

The smirk Gabriel always wore unfurled into a wide grin and directed its full force at Sam. It made him feel as if he was floating somewhere above the clouds, somewhere where the realities of his life couldn’t reach him. This was what he wanted, he realized, as he let the corners of his mouth twist upwards in a silent answer. He could face the rest of it for the rest of eternity so long as he had this.

Gabriel snorted as if he knew exactly what Sam was thinking.

They kept on walking along the dusty highway, no cars racing past them. Nothing but them and the thousands of miles of hazy sky.

They had a long way to go yet.


	7. From Bad to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we have actual progress in romance? Yes. Is this out crazy early compared to other chapters lately? Yes. Am I procrastinating on writing the essays I have due on Monday? Also, yes.

_WORLDWIDE CROP FAILURES_

_It has been a bad season for farmers across the world as more and more report swarms of locusts destroying their crops. Surprisingly, this apocalyptic-esque behaviour has been mainly seen Russia and its surrounding nations, though other countries, including the United States of America. Paul Henderson is one such American farmer whose reported crop destruction and he even went so far as to claim he spent four days locked in his home with his family, waiting for the swarms to leave. For more on Henderson’s story and other reports, turn to page 3._

_.._

_IS GLOBAL WARMING SPEEDING UP?_

_Scientists have reported that sea levels have risen almost six inches over the past month. Is this a sign that we’ve done irreparable damage to our planet? Previous reports had suggested it would take at least another seventy years before they reached the levels they’re at today. Some have already claimed that if we continue on this track, it will only be a matter of months before the atmosphere thins even more and we face possible world-wide extinction. Evacuations have already started in low-lying areas where the increase in sea levels has caused mild flooding but it is still to be seen if they will ever be able to move back into their home. Read more about this story on page 7._

_.._

_NEW BAN ON RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY ENRAGES MINORITY POPULATIONS_

_The President of the United States declared his intention to criminalize gatherings of more than five people where alternate religious beliefs are discussed. This new law would focus on any mention of demons or Satan, but other religions could possibly be included in this. It also seems to follow a rise in the belief of the occult with online searches for exorcisms, demons, and even angels skyrocketing. There has been little opposition to the suggested bill and will likely be passed sometime next week. Find out what Leah Gideon thinks about it on page 12!_

* * *

Sam glanced over the newspaper rack briefly, ignoring the bored look of the cashier. It didn’t look like anything more exciting than what he already knew but the waitress at the diner next door had told him about the TVs not working. Finally he grabbed one and a protein bar off the rack, and went up to the front counter.

“That everything?” the cashier asked automatically.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you something,” Sam said.

“Shoot.”

“This is going to sound really weird but do you know of any local legends or anything like that? I’m doing a piece for an online magazine and need to do a bit of research.”

“People are still doing that sort of stuff?” 

Sam paused for a moment, surprised. “What do you mean by that? It doesn’t look like there’s been too much going on around here lately.”

“Nah,” the teenager agreed, “we’ve been pretty lucky around here so far. But you don’t have to leave town in order to see there’s been some messed up shit going on. If one or two people were talking about it, I’d just dismiss it but there’s been a lot. Seems like every person you talk to online these days has some sort of horror story to tell.”

“I-” Sam shook his head, disbelieving. Of course things were starting to spread, he just hadn’t really expected people to ever notice. “Ok, I’m not a reporter. Never have been, never will be. But I am trying to fix things and a source told me that I might find something here.”

The teenager thought for a moment, running his hand through his greasy hair. “Well, people have always said the Old Hamilton House is haunted but I doubt that’s your sorta gig. Other than that, just stick around till, like, four and you’ll see why we’re called the Flower Capital of the State.”

“Wait, why?”

“Four. You won’t miss it, promise. Good luck though, dude, seems like you’re going to need it.”

Sam thanked him as he headed out of the gas station with his newspaper and protein bar. He’d gone inside hoping to get some sort of direction of where to start searching but he was now more confused than when he’d gone inside. The Flower Capital of the State wasn’t exactly something that helped him much.

But it was a starting point.

And the waitress from the diner had told him where the library was, on top of mentioning the whole black out situation. 

A couple hours later, as Sam sat at one of the wooden tables with half a dozen record books open around him, it was becoming clear that there wasn’t much to find. The town didn’t even have most of the history other towns did. Settlers had come a couple hundred years ago and decided to stay, and there’d been nothing strange or off about them. And the most supernatural activity they’d faced were a couple of hauntings over the years, including at the Hamilton House the cashier had mentioned. Hauntings that had long since been taken care of, by the looks of things.

There was definitely not anything that shouted “Hey, look! I can help you defeat the Devil!” The clerk at the front desk wasn’t able to help much either and Sam didn’t waste much time asking when she started into a coughing fit. 

Then Sam stepped outside sometime around four, just in time to see the flowers in garden beds lining the streets start to bloom. They were even more brightly coloured than if it had been a spring afternoon instead of late fall and it didn’t make any sense. Sam had never seen anything like this before, had never even heard of something like this. And it should have been something that pinged on his radar at one point or another, even just as a mild curiosity.

If nothing else than Bobby should have known about it.

“You’re new around here.”

Sam’s head swiveled at the unexpected voice but it was only a young woman, staring at him curiously. He was fairly certain he’d spotted her staring at him a couple times in the library but it hadn’t seemed like anything other than curiosity, so he’d dismissed it.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “I am. I’m not sticking around though, just in town for a couple days.”

“Really? Why?” she asked, her eyebrows crinkling in confusion.

“Well, I’m writing this piece about-”

She shook her head. “Not why you’re here,” she clarified. “I know why you’re here. It’s the same reason why there’s been so many people move here in the past month. No, why are you leaving?”

“I can’t just stay here. I have commitments out of town.”

“Are they really that important, Sam? You could be safe here, everyone could be safe here. It’s not just the flowers, you know, this place is a harbour away from everything evil in the world. You could bring your friends and your family here, and you’d be able to have a safe, normal life. I promise.”

A frown had dug its way onto Sam’s face as he stared at the woman. He was beginning to get the sense that there was something off about her, other than the strange things she was saying. Even other than the fact that she knew his name. Her smile was odd, hanging on the precipice between understanding and not. It was even familiar in a way but he couldn’t pinpoint quite where he’d seen an expression like that before.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or how you know my name, but what I do with my life really isn’t any of your business,” Sam settled for saying.

“I’m Lailah.”

“And I don’t care.” But she was still staring at him expectantly and so he tried a different approach, his voice lowering in feigned understanding. “This place obviously means a lot to you. Really, I mean it. And if this was five years ago, I would have jumped at the offer. But I just can’t stick my head in the sand anymore, not when other people are getting hurt and I can do something about it.”

“Huh,” Lailah stated and she looked from him for the first time. “I need to think about this further.”

“Alright?”

“In private.”

“Great, well, you can go do that and I’m just going to-”

Lailah lifted up her hand and silently pressed two fingers to Sam’s forehead. There was a faint trace of a frown on her face as she did, making her look far more like a real person than when she’d been smiling.

Sam looked around for a moment, confused. It was odd. For a moment, he could have sworn there was someone watching the flowers with but the feeling had passed and he continued on down the front steps of the library. He’d have to tell Bobby about the flowers when they got in touch that evening but in the meantime, he needed to canvas the locals a bit and see if they knew anything about the local history. Particularly because the local paper didn’t seem to report everything that happened in town.

A hundred and fifty years without a single mention of flowers springing into bloom in the middle of fall wasn’t just odd, it was a town-wide conspiracy. Unless it just started up in the last couple months but Sam got the feeling that wasn’t the case. The townspeople seemed too used to it.

The bigger question was how it had managed to stay a secret for as long as it had. Even if the townspeople had kept it to themselves, every town had visitors and they wouldn’t have been in on it. Rumours would have spread within weeks, before Lucifer had gotten out of the Cage, and someone would have started to capitalize on it.

That was how these things worked.

* * *

“Alone, Sammy?”

Even Sam’s recent expertise in dream walking didn’t quicken the realization of where he was. Or who he was with. The sharp scent of iron overcame him even as the dream shifted and settled around him, Lucifer’s form struggling to stick to one image.

That same expertise demanded he ignore the shifting figure somewhere to his left. Or perhaps it was his right. It didn’t matter. He’d discovered that the more he thought about the being intruding in on his dreams, the more power it gave Lucifer to manipulate his surroundings. Different from the first dream that had been intruded on or even the second. Lucifer had long since abandoned the route of gentle persuasion. Just as Sam had abandoned doing anything other than silently enduring it.

“Come on, you _must_ have known.” Lucifer sighed dramatically. “And here I thought my brother would have jumped at the chance to prove he was doing something. He always used to, you know. Nobody doubted he was the youngest, not when he so desperately sought after our Father’s attention.”

Only it seemed like he’d already given Lucifer too much power. Sam was still staring blankly forward but the dream was starting to settle around him. Wooden boards morphed into being beneath him. The smell of iron got worse.

“Just like you, I suppose, always wondering why Daddy didn’t like you.”

It was a dock. He could make out the sound of waves crashing against the shore now, of a boat gently brushing up against the dock. There might have been seagulls too but he refused to search them out. That was a script he knew too well.

“So he didn’t mention it then. Surprise, surprise. But that still begs the question. Where is Gabriel and why has he decided to abandon you on this fine evening?”

There was something off about the water. He knew it instinctively. There was no need to look at it and so he fixed his gaze on the pale blue of the horizon, pretending it didn’t contrast with the sea. If he focused for long enough than he could force Lucifer out of his mind entirely. It was difficult but at the end of the day, Lucifer didn’t have his consent.

Except doing that was a lot more difficult than it normally was, as if there were some sort of barrier that hadn’t been there before.

“No? Wow, what exactly _has_ my little brother told you? Not a whole lot, by the looks of things.”

Shit.

No.

Something was moving in the water. No, not water. Blood. Thick, red blood that threatened to pull him down underneath and pour into his mouth, his nose, his eyes, anywhere it could get inside him like poison he could never get rid of.

“You know, the two of you share something but he doesn’t trust you. And I’ll be the first person to tell you those silly, little marks don’t mean anything. But you know that already.”

His eyes squeezed shut. It didn’t help anything. He could still see the horizon, the ocean, feel the wooden boards beneath him as pieces started to peel away only to dig underneath his skin.

“The truth is that Gabriel can’t truly care for anyone other than himself. And Dean, well, he’s already turned on you.”

Lie.

It was a lie.

Sam knew it had to be a lie.

He could still remember the look on Gabriel’s face as the archangel told him about just how many people he’d been bonded to. Even if Gabriel really didn’t care about him. Even if Lucifer was right about that. There was no doubt that Gabriel had cared about them. Sam didn’t doubt Gabriel could tell him the names of each and every one of them, spanning back millennia.

“I won’t. I could show you what love really looks like.”

Sam scoffed, acknowledging Lucifer for the first time.

It only took him a moment to build his walls back up, and push the Devil and his sweet lies out.

* * *

Sam stared up at the hotel ceiling, feeling more awake than he had any right to be given the hour. Ruby’s knife was clenched in one hand but it would take him hours to wash the feeling of violation away again. It wasn’t just exaggeration. That might have been the first time he’d allowed Lucifer to get so far but it wasn’t the first time he’d woken up feeling like this. Like something disgusting crawled inside of him and refused to leave.

Something groaned to his left. Sam tightened his grip around the knife and slowly sat up, his thoughts a whirlwind.

Had he really left the dream?

Would Lucifer be on the other bed when he turned the light on, waiting for him as everyone he’d ever loved lay around him in various stages of disembowelment? 

Or would he be wearing Jess’s face again?

His free hand shook as he reached over and turned the light on. Then he stopped, frowning. As far as he could tell, he was the only one in the hotel room, even as his nose itched from the faint smell of iron. Likely nothing more than something left over from his dream. 

Another noise, more like an annoyed huff, and this time it brought Sam’s gaze down to the floor beside the bed. The knife fell to the bed, unneeded.

“Gabriel?”

The archangel rolled his eyes and pulled himself up half an inch before falling back down again. “Sam.”

Sam’s brain took a couple moments to catch up as he blinked away the light and things started to fall into place. Gabriel, laying on his hotel room floor. The hint of blood soaking through Gabriel’s shirt. That was all he really needed to know before he scrambled off of the bed in a mess of long, lanky limbs. He had first aid equipment. Not that it had been in his bag when Dean dumped him on the side of the road but he’d made sure to pick some up as soon as he walked into town.

A decision he was grateful for now.

The paper package of the gauze ripped open with ease and Sam attempted to swat Gabriel’s hands away from his abdomen. He didn’t have to tug the shirt up to know that stitches were going to be necessary. There wasn’t any dental floss in the first aid kit. Of course there wasn’t; first aid kits didn’t prepare for life-threatening wounds. But there was some dental floss and a needle tucked away in the bottom of his bag.

A hand clutched onto his own, drawing Sam’s attention back up to Gabriel’s face. “That’s not going to help much, kiddo.”

Sam frowned. “It’s not enough but there’s sheets and towels in the bathroom. I’ll take them when I leave, burn them out in some field so they can’t link the DNA back to you or your vessel, I guess. I’ve done it before with Dean.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not all squishy inside like you are, I’ll heal. Even from this.”

“It doesn’t look like that to me.” Sam pulled his hand away and tugged Gabriel’s shirt up, revealing the wound there. His frown deepened. “This is definitely going to need stitches. I know being an archangel means you’re capable of dealing with it, but do you want something for the pain? There’s a six-pack in the fridge.”

“Really, I’ll be fine. Just needed somewhere to hide out for a little while. Somewhere… away from other possible threats.”

“And I don’t care. Now, do you want that beer or not?”

“Fine, hand it over.”

It only took him a few moments to fish the needle and dental floss out his bag, and another to grab a beer from the fridge. The harder part was hauling Gabriel up onto the bed, despite the archangel’s snarky comments about being fine with a bit of man-handling. But Sam wasn’t blind to the dark colour on Gabriel’s lips or the way Gabriel’s breath would falter every few moments.

The better part of an hour was spent stitching up the long, deep wound. Sam had a pretty clear image that it was a lot worse than Gabriel would admit. There was no running commentary, not even when he downed one of the beers for himself, just to make his hands stop shaking. Not even a single snark about how messy his stitches were. The only thing that helped was that the wound seemed to be naturally attempting to close by itself, the skin fusing together almost immediately.

Sam finally set the needle down, stumbling backwards until the other bed hit the back of his knees and he sat down automatically. Gabriel was staring at him. The archangel’s shirt was in tatters and it said a lot that Gabriel hadn’t snapped himself into a new, clean one.

“What happened?”

Gabriel looked away from him and then winced as he tried to sit up properly. “I was just enjoying myself somewhere off the coast of Taiwan when someone decided they really didn’t like my face. Never understood why some people take so much offense at my lovely mug.”

“And so they decided to stab you in the gut with an angel blade,” Sam commented blandly.

“Yes?”

Sam stared at him blankly. It was too difficult to come up with a coherent argument to that, there were too many of them.

“Ok, no.”

“Are you going to tell me what really happened then?”

“Not a chance, bucko.”

Sam sighed but he didn’t push things any further. Not after he’d just spent the last hour patching Gabriel back up again, trying to picture a scenario where it didn’t end in a dead Gabriel through one means or another. The only thing he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget it all for a couple hours. Unlikely, but he could always hope.

Not to mention he was still covered in blood, Sam realized belatedly. He disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes in a haze and abandoned his shirt somewhere on the floor. Blood stains shirts weren’t the best thing to sleep in. 

It was only once he stepped out of the bathroom again that he realized just how much Gabriel trusted him. The archangel must have regained a bit of his strength back because he was wearing a new shirt but other than that, there was no sign that Gabriel was anything other than human. Not as he laid there, struggling to keep his eyes open even as they lazily trailed after Sam. Lucifer had been wrong about everything.

“Go to sleep, would you?” Sam said as he climbed into the empty bed.

Gabriel scoffed and stubbornly stared over at Sam but neither did he pop out of the existence, favouring some penthouse suite over the lumpy motel mattress. Sam counted it as a win. 

It felt like only a matter of moments passed between one moment and the next, as Sam woke to the uncomfortable sensation of something tickling his nose the next morning. He swatted at it, his hand coming away with a sticky note. Then Sam promptly rolled over and let himself be lulled back into sleep. 

The sticky note was still in his hand when he woke up a second time and Sam looked at it blearily, not understanding what was going on.

_hunting politicians comes @ a price apparently b back soon_

If it hadn’t been for the same obnoxious ink Gabriel always used in his notes, Sam wouldn’t have had the slightest idea why he was holding onto it. Or maybe he would have. It wasn’t as if there were many people who could have broken into his motel room in the middle of the night. Especially with a stab wound to the gut, Sam remembered with a growing sense of horror. And there was only one person who’d been hunting politicians. One person and an angel, that was.

Sam reached for the remote beside the bed with growing urgency and then swore when the TV stayed off. He managed to get all the way across the room before he remembered that none of the TVs in town were working and hadn’t been for days. It didn’t him longer than a minute to find it on his laptop though, dozens of articles having already been written about it.

Articles matched together with one incriminating video featuring Dean and Castiel.

All of them cut off moments before Castiel drove some sort of branch into her chest, the video having seemingly been cut at that moment. But the thirty second clip mixed with Leah Gideon being dead weren’t exactly going to make things easy for either Dean or Castiel.

More concerning was that all of the articles also mentioned that Dean Winchester and James Novak were already in custody for Gideon’s murder, and that they were speeding up the time until the trial on account of national security. A contingency plan if Sam had ever saw one, and not one that should have worked at all with Castiel at Dean’s side. It wasn’t going to work at all if Sam’s suspicions were right.

Sam quickly glanced at his phone, unsurprised that there were nearly a dozen missed calls. Ellen and Bobby. Jo, a couple times too. He quickly got to work on phoning them back. None of them were all too confident that things were going to turn out fine. Even Charlie, chiming in from the background of Jo’s call, expressed her doubts.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. This is Dean we’re talking about,” Sam reasoned.

He could almost hear Jo rolling her eyes on the other line. _“Yeah, Dean Winchester, newly under maximum security. How exactly is he supposed to get out of that one?”_

“Same way he got out of all the others?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it the same way. Not that Dean-o enjoys having an angel other than Cassy on his shoulder,” Gabriel chimed in as he appeared on Sam’s bed.

_“Sam, what was that?”_

“A friend. One who came to tell me that Dean’s alright, actually. Now the only thing we’ve got to worry about is the police recognizing him but that’s difficult to do from the back booth at a pub. Look, could you spread the news?”

_“Fine, you keep your little secrets, Sam Winchester. Just know I’ll get them out of you eventually.”_

The line ended and Sam rolled his eyes with a huff. He knew she’d end up getting them out of him at one point or another, that was just the way Jo worked. She wouldn’t leave him alone until she knew. 

He looked over at Gabriel as he set his phone back down. The archangel was still laid out on his bed. Alone. He knew better than to ask where Dean and Castiel was. Somewhere far away from where he was, where Dean didn’t even have to remember his existence. It was unfair to Dean to think like that but the feelings were there, regardless of what Dean actually thought.

“They’re…?”

“Safe.” Gabriel paused, considering, and then shrugged. “Well, safe-ish. Your brother is a Winchester, not a Laria, after all. The lot of you attract danger like smoke to fire.”

Sam frowned. “A Laria? I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Exactly. Anyways, they’ve taken off to deal with the rest of the Whores. Did I mention that? I feel like I probably mentioned that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sam admitted with a shake of his head. “The moment you guys mentioned you’d tracked her down, I wondered what was stopping the same thing from happening in other places. So, I did a bit of research and…”

“And you saw the rest of them,” Gabriel confirmed.

“It didn’t take much. Even if the memories can be faked, the records can. But that’s not what I want to know,” Sam said pointedly. “Why weren’t Dean and Cas able to get themselves out of that prison? You said you had Cas running at full strength again.”

“I _did_. But it’s not that simple. It took Luci a lot of energy to bring the Whore into existence because he didn’t have an easy way to direct that energy, unlike with the Horsemen. So, each time they kill one of these Whores, there’s a backlash. Sort of like a giant tidal wave of power crashing down on them; it disrupts Cassy’s access to his Grace for about a day or so.”

“That-”

“Is dangerous, yeah.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to-”

But Gabriel was already long gone, leaving Sam to his thoughts and the unfamiliar emptiness of the motel room. Even the tense atmosphere of the last couple months hadn’t accustomed him to the complete lack of anyone. Him and Dean had always lived out of each other’s pockets, and he’d always had a roommate when he’d been going to Stanford. It was lonelier than he’d ever imagined it being.

The rest of his day was spent attempting to uncover more of the town’s secrets to great failure. No one wanted to talk about the flowers, and even the local florist had just given him a secretive smile and said it was a town tradition. Whatever that had meant. 

If Sam didn’t manage to find anything by tomorrow, he was going to have to go to the next place on the list. There just wasn’t enough time to waste on more detailed research. Not when Lucifer was still out there, making the supernatural more and more real to the masses with each passing day. More places were being destroyed, more people were dying. Speed was the most important factor in taking Lucifer down, even if it wasn’t permanent.

They’d be able to use that time to find something permanent.

Sam stared down at his empty drink, silently contemplating his options. The rest of the pub was buzzing with conversation and it likely said a lot about Sam that he was able to concentrate better in place like this than he’d ever be able to someplace quiet. There was little he wouldn’t do in order to get rid of Lucifer. And maybe it was time he started to look at non-traditional sources of information.

Another drink was placed in front of him. “Here you go, sir.”

Sam frowned. “I didn’t order this.”

“No, you didn’t,” the waitress admitted and then her cheeks flushed. “The man over at the bar there did. He paid for it too.”

There were three men sitting at the bar though but by the time Sam opened his mouth to ask which one, the waitress had already taken off. Sam stared down at his new drink, suspicious. Dean might not have questioned the validity of a free drink but he hadn’t exactly done anything to make any of the townspeople trust him over the last couple days. It would only fall in line with everything else that had happened if it turned out to be poisoned.

“Think of it as a token of good will.”

His hand inched towards Ruby’s knife hidden underneath his shirt. The man sitting across from him raised a single dark eyebrow, his hands purposely placed on the table. Sam knew better than to think it meant the man was any less capable of killing him at a moment’s notice.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“The name’s Crowley, otherwise known as the new King of the Crossroads, and I’m here to offer you a business proposal,” the man informed him curtly.

Sam wrapped his fingers around the knife and slowly brought it under the table. “Sorry, but I don’t deal with demons.”

“Not anymore, at least, I know. It’s all anyone talks about these days.”

“So why would you think I would suddenly make an exception for some Crossroads demon? Besides, I’ve got more important things to worry about at the moment.”

“Lucifer. That’s what I wanted to discuss, actually. It would have been preferable if we’d been able to do this in a different situation, however things haven’t exactly gone according to plan. Your little angel friend has messed things up in that regard.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t exactly call him little.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Samuel,” Crowley agreed. “But that’s not the point. The _point_ is that I’m not exactly a loyalist, if you catch my drift, and I find myself inexplicably fond of this little planet and its inhabitants.”

“Alright, explain.”

* * *

It was late by the time Sam got back to his motel room, his head spinning with all the information he’d gotten from Crowley. There was a plan. A real, concrete plan that they could put into motion in only a matter of days. 

There were issues too, of course. Mainly that Bobby and Dean were never going to accept the plan if they knew it was coming from a demon but it made sense and not just in the way their current plan did. All they were doing at the moment was chasing after whispers. Now they didn’t have to blindly hope they were going to stumble over something useful. They could put Lucifer down, or at least back into the Cage. And if there were a few consequences to that then he would worry about it later. Or not, in this case.

He’d phone Bobby in the morning, see how things were going on his side and then tell him about Crowley despite his promise to the demon that he’d keep things on the down-low. He wasn’t that stupid. And Bobby would be capable of seeing problems that Sam wouldn’t. The new plan could be abandoned if it turned out to be a scam. Crowley wouldn’t be the first Crossroads demon he’d killed.

The biggest problem would be bringing Dean around.

And Michael. There was no telling what the archangel would do if the Apocalypse didn’t end up going the way he wanted. Dean hadn’t told him enough of their interactions to get a proper read on it.

“You should be glad I’m not most people, Sasquatch,” Gabriel said suddenly as Sam looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. “They’d be appalled to find out you’ve been making deals with demons. But, as it so happens, Crowley is bit of a personal exception.”

Sam glanced over at Gabriel. “You know Crowley?”

“He’s a hard guy to miss, likes a little mayhem with his deals, and some of the guy’s he’s made deals with… well, let’s just say they had it coming to them. That’s neither here nor there though.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed with a sigh. There were things about Gabriel’s life that he’d never agree with. “How are you doing though? You didn’t look too good last night.”

“Not even a scratch left, promise. But there’s nothing wrong with checking for yourself,” Gabriel teased with a slight waggle of his eyebrows.

Sam allowed himself a grin. “Well, I suppose you should pay me back somehow. You did wake me up and then there was all the time I spent sewing you back up again.”

“And that brings me to the reason why I’m here.”

Gabriel gave him a brief moment to react before he reached forward and touched Sam’s arm. There was a moment of disorientation from the displacement but Sam didn’t feel nearly as put off by the brief flight than he had the last time Gabriel had tried such a thing. Then again there was a big difference between the streets of downtown London and where they were now. 

It was a small cabin, lit by the low light of a fire and the reflection of snow through the window. They were currently standing in the living room but there was a small kitchenette in the corner and a open door leading to what looked like a bedroom. Bookshelves lined the wall by the front door and was filled with old and new books alike, some of which Sam had never even heard of before. Most of all, it felt warm and cozy and lived in. And somehow like more of a home than any house Sam had ever been in before.

This was a big deal. Bigger than he even knew how to explain. Sam should have been demanding to know what was going on, questioning Gabriel’s motives. He didn’t. It was a gift, of sorts, and one he didn’t have the will to refuse. Even more than that, it was the show of trust he’d been craving ever since Lucifer had claimed Gabriel was incapable of such things. More than even Gabriel showing up in motel room injured had been.

Gabriel was watching him, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction. If Sam didn’t know any better, he would have even gone as far as to say Gabriel was anxious.

“It’s really nice,” he said neutrally. “But what is it exactly.”

“Just an old hideaway of mine. I haven’t been around in years but I figured you could do with a break from all of the doom and gloom for a while.” Gabriel shrugged, looking anywhere other than at Sam himself.

It didn’t seem that way but Sam let it go in favour of slowly closing the distance that had appeared between them until barely even a foot separated them.

“Really?”

Gabriel locked gazes with him. “No.”

Reaching over to cup Gabriel’s cheek was second nature, Sam’s limbs moving before he even put conscious thought into it. He almost always wanted to do this when he was around Gabriel but he’d never let himself before now. The difference now was that he trusted the both of them enough to not screw this up.

“Can I?” Sam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gabriel huffed out a silent laugh. “Get down here, you giant.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched before he leaned down and softly kissed Gabriel. His lips tingled sharply as Gabriel pushed back with the same amount of care. Neither of them pushed it further than that, instead they just stood there and silently shared their breath, unwilling to move away for even a moment. Something warm lit in middle of Sam’s chest and the longer he stayed there, the bigger it grew and the harder it was to grin wildly.

Eventually they moved apart, only an inch or two but more than Sam ever wanted between them again.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The sombre mood broke as Gabriel smirked at him, his hands finding their way to Sam’s hips and his fingers looping through Sam’s belt loops in order to pull their bodies together. “Well, if I’d known you would show your appreciation like this, I would have brought you here sooner.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Sam countered and there was nothing stopping his grin anymore. “You care about this place.”

“Admittedly, it does hold a certain appeal. Right now though, I want to test my theory that it’s appeal will grow when you’re on the couch instead of all the way up there.”

Each step Gabriel took backwards was followed by a step forward for Sam as he was tugged along. Being apart from Gabriel for even a moment was beginning to feel like it would be some sort of unusual torture. Their lips met in the middle as Gabriel pushed Sam onto the couch, their height difference disappearing entirely when Gabriel sat himself down on Sam’s lap. 

It was different than any sort of relationship he’d ever been in, Sam breathlessly noted to himself. Incomparable to the hard, fast struggle for power that he’d had with Ruby and somehow even more so to the soft, easy rhythm he’d fallen into with Jess. Gabriel’s hands tracing incomprehensible patterns onto his sides made his skin feel as if it was lit with fire, hot and distracting. But it wasn’t easy. Sam knew that things would never be easy for them, regardless of this new development between them.

He didn’t really want it any other way.

That revelation allowed him to push harder into the kiss, seeking something more than the casual exchange they’d been participating in so far. Gabriel went with it with ease, pushing back with equal enthusiasm

A thick wave of heat spread through him as Gabriel’s hand moved backwards to lightly run over the lines of his mark and Sam faltered, pulling away from their kiss with heat and confusion in his eyes. Instead of explaining, Gabriel smirked and placed his hand on Sam’s mark more fully. It happened again, and this time a laboured noise fell from Sam’s lips without permission. 

Sam sought out the buttons on Gabriel’s shirt, his fingers shaking with the sudden urgency that had consumed him without permission. He needed to feel Gabriel’s skin against his own, take this that step further that he wasn’t entirely certain he was ready for. 

But Gabriel had tensed before Sam had. And once Sam took the time to see it, his hands had slowed and he could see the edge of a mark on Gabriel’s chest. It wasn’t a grey one like the marks were before someone met with their soulmate or the dark, black one like Sam still had etched into his thigh. It was a warm red that spoke of comfort and steadiness. Sam could feel the urge to reach forward and push the rest of Gabriel’s shirt away, to touch it and trace it and imprint it into his memory.

Sam didn’t.

Gabriel looked too uncomfortable with it and Sam could remember the disgust he’d felt whenever Ruby had tried to look at his mark. That was the last thing he wanted, not just here and now but ever.

Gabriel finally rolled his eyes. “If anyone’s has a right to look at it, it’s you.”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Sam countered.

Something faltered in Gabriel then the archangel relaxed, pushing Sam’s hands away. Sam felt a tinge of disappointment but it disappeared a moment later when Gabriel started to undo the buttons himself. His eyes followed Gabriel’s fingers as they deftly got lower and lower until the shirt was shrugged off entirely.

It was an anti-possession sigil.

Or at least it was something similar. There were more details than the one Sam had tattooed on his collarbone, small little details that he’d never seen in any version of it. Like the ring of Enochian surrounding it, mixed with stylistic flames. 

Heat and pleasure set low in his stomach as Sam continued to stare at it. It was a very intimate gesture to get the mark of one’s soulmate tattooed onto their own skin, a symbol of commitment deeper than the one suggested by the bond they already shared. More importantly, it was a mark of choice. That they would have ended up together even if such things hadn’t been written into their skin. And even if Sam hadn’t known that when he got his tattoo, he couldn’t feel any regret for it.

Then Sam looked back up and saw caution in Gabriel’s eyes. “Which came first?”

“Not the slightest clue. I was trying to play a joke on this asshole, and the whole thing blew up in my face when the thing actually worked.” Gabriel leaned back and let his hands slip out of Sam’s shirt. “You really want to hear this story right now? There’s always other things we could get back to.”

“I do.”

“Your loss then.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically but settled in on the couch to tell his story, legs spread out over Sam’s lap. A cookie appeared in his hand a moment later and he chewed at it thoughtfully, thinking back on the story he wanted to tell. No time was wasted after that as he set into an exaggerated tale of an abusive father who’d made a deal with a demon. Somehow, Sam thought it was even better than the path their night had almost taken.

* * *

Sam was in a haze the entire next morning. It felt as if he was on top of the world right where nothing would ever be able to bring him down again. The waitress had even commented on it as he sat in the dinner, barely even capable of glancing through the menu without a wide grin on his face. 

They hadn’t gone any further than that bit of kissing but Sam couldn’t bring himself to really care. That wasn’t important. Not when he compared it to the way they’d spent the majority of the night talking in soft whispers, sharing themselves in a way they couldn’t normally. With the unfortunate exception of Ruby, he’d never had a partner who he could talk to about hunting before. Or even share that part of his life with. 

He’d never even allowed someone the possibility of empathizing with long nights spent wondering if his family was going to come back injured or not at all. Or how living in one place was impossible because people would realize things after a while, like how a Devil’s Trap wasn’t just some fancy decoration he’d put onto the floor and that most people didn’t line their doors and windows with salt.

It was freeing, much more than he ever thought it would be.

That he’d woken up alone in his motel room hadn’t even bothered him when he thought of the way Gabriel’s lips had felt against his own. He had the feeling he’d see the angel again that night anyways. It couldn’t come soon enough.

Sam walked out of the diner in that same haze. It took him a moment too long to notice the woman leaning against the car he’d hijacked two towns back and she smiled at him, disarmingly. Only Sam knew better than to drop his guard. There was something not right about her, something other than the ashen shade to her cheeks and her shaking hands.

“I hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere today, Samuel,” she greeted him, throwing her words at him as if they could physically harm him. 

He reached for Ruby’s knife and then cursed. It wasn’t there. In fact, he had a fairly vivid image of it sitting on top of his bag, right where he’d put it the night before. “What’s stopping me?”

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” she clucked. “These insects you call people, for one. You see, Lucifer has an offer for you, since he’s finally decided to take off the _kiddy_ gloves.”

She waited for him to say something but Sam didn’t dare say a word.

“No guesses? Fine. He wants you and he’s no longer going to play nice. Either you join him or everyone in this town is dead. And they’ll infect more and more people until you’re the only one left. Croatoan is funny that way.”

“You’re Pestilence,” he breathed out.

His eyes flickered to people walking down the street. Sam could see the signs now. A woman was fretting over her feverish child across the street. Another couple were coughing as they tried to have a conversation. And even if that didn’t do it, there were likely another dozen symptoms that were invisible to the human eye. He’d seen how Croatoan worked, he knew there wasn’t a cure to a demon’s plague.

“I am and you have four hours before there’s nothing even I can do to stop it. Oh, and don’t think about leaving the town. I’ve made a few… modifications to the barrier around this town, now that whatever was keeping it in place is gone. I’m the only thing that can come and go at will, so do make your decision fast.”


End file.
